


An Old-Fashioned Vampire Story

by manic_intent



Category: American Vampire, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Human!Jim Gordon, M/M, NOTE: THERE IS WEREWOLF SEX SO YMMV, No familiarity with American Vampire required, Sort of!Werewolf!Alfred, That AU where Gotham is ruled by a three way truce between the Waynes, Vampire mobsters, the Mob and the humans, up until someone - or something - breaks the balance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:17:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2514080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The well-dressed, hard-faced man who had collected Bruce Wayne from the crime scene answered the door with a narrow-eyed look of surprise that threw all of Jim’s instincts. Instead of a polite greeting, there was a curt, “You’re one of the GCPD detectives.” </p><p>“Yes.” Jim forced himself to meet the man’s eyes. They were the most unsettling part of him: the pupils were a strange, deep amber that reminded Jim uncomfortably of a feral animal. “You’re… Alfred Pennyworth, aren’t you? I’m Detective Jim Gordon.” </p><p>“And?” </p><p>“And what?”</p><p>“And what do you want?” There was a strange note to Alfred’s voice that Jim couldn’t place, that didn’t seem to sound quite… right: it seemed to pull at something under his skin, somewhere subconscious. It made his skin crawl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just binge-read Snyder’s American Vampire (like… all of it…) and then had semi-bad dreams and then remembered a hilariously melodramatic Batman comic I had once read called Crimson Mist, where Batman is a vampire, Alfred revives him from his sleep to help Gordon with Gotham’s crime problem, and yeah, it’s sort of like using a nuclear warhead to deal with a roach infestation. Great idea, Alfred. Not.
> 
> American Vampire is far, far better than Crimson Mist, and if you’re any shade of (Vertigo-style) comics reader I def recommend it (It also won an Eisner…?). But you won’t need to read it to understand this story, just that basically, there are many species of vampire (Homo Abominum), like the ones that perpetrate the werewolf trend (Homo Abominum Canis) etc, all with different weaknesses and different psychoses. 
> 
> The dominant species are the Carpathians, derived from Dracula and with the usual vampire weaknesses (wood, sunlight). They set about exterminating all the other vampire species. There’s also a group of vampire hunters, the Vassals of the Morning Star, but they seem to be more of a side show. Most of the series focuses on the conflict between the Carpathians and the new breed of vampire that they accidentally made during the Wild West in America - Homo Abominum Americana, the American vampire.
> 
> Also, in a final note, the fic Fair Play is finished, but since I uploaded the last three chapters all at once, it might have spammed out anyone who subscribed to it XD;; Reload it if you didn't get the notif! And again, thanks for reading, guys.
> 
>  **Edit** : I normally don't bother to edit fics, but since I'm still getting comments on this one ~~~ **EXTENDED DISCLAIMER** ~~~  
> 1\. This is an American Vampire AU. NOT Twilight, or any of the sparkly, happy vampire fandoms out there. Those are fine by me (ymmv right?) but if you don't like darker fare, don't touch this fic. If you do, as I mentioned above, American Vampire is a really fantastic comic, and I really recommend it. This fic is nowhere as dark as American Vampire actually does get, though, so you have been warned.   
> 2\. Alfred Pennyworth is technically a vampire, but functionally in trope form, more like a werewolf. There is shapeshifter sex.

I.

The well-dressed, hard-faced man who had collected Bruce Wayne from the crime scene answered the door with a narrow-eyed look of surprise that threw all of Jim’s instincts. Instead of a polite greeting, there was a curt, “You’re one of the GCPD detectives.”

“Yes.” Jim forced himself to meet the man’s eyes. They were the most unsettling part of him: the pupils were a strange, deep amber that reminded Jim uncomfortably of a feral animal. “You’re… Alfred Pennyworth, aren’t you? I’m Detective Jim Gordon.” 

“And?” 

“And what?”

“And what do you want?” There was a strange note to Alfred’s voice that Jim couldn’t place, that didn’t seem to sound quite… right: it seemed to pull at something under his skin, somewhere subconscious. It made his skin crawl. 

“Is Bruce Wayne home? I’ll like to speak to him.” It was all Jim could do to keep his tone even.

“He’s obviously home, and no, you obviously can’t speak to him, it’s the bloody _daytime_ , innit?” Alfred growled, and he did _literally_ growl: there was a serrated sharpness to his voice that made Jim jump. What was _that_? 

Still, he hadn’t survived his two tours of duty without a certain degree of stubbornness, and Jim said, “Ah, do you mean, he’s still asleep?” He supposed that made sense. The boy had a most upsetting night. 

“Well, it’s the _daytime_ , innit? Bloody rude, this is! There are _rules_ -” Alfred snapped, baring his teeth, then he started to frown, and the harshness in his voice tempered down all at once. “Wait. Are you new? To Gotham? Gotham PD?” Alfred, to Jim’s astonishment, sniffed at the air. “New suit. New belt too, new shoes. First day at work? First week?” 

“First week,” Jim admitted, then continued defensively, “But I’m fully trained.” 

Alfred let out a low, barking laugh. “Where’s your partner? Big man in the hat? Mister Rotgut Whisky?”

“Uh, he’s got other leads to follow, said I could handle this one myself.” 

“Let me guess, rookie,” Alfred drawled, “You’re not popular in the department. Or with your partner.” 

“Well. I’m still new.” 

Alfred snorted. “All right, new guy. Go back to your partner. Ask him about the Covenant. And if you still want to, come back at nightfall. Master Bruce will be available then, if you still have any questions.” 

“When’s - nightfall-” Jim began, but Alfred pointedly shut the heavy door in his face. “Ah.” 

Jim took a step back, under the yawning shade of the porch, then another, until he was standing in the sun, and it was only there, in the warmth of it all, that he remembered something that he’d seen, that now made him shiver. 

When Alfred had bared his teeth, his canines had been unnaturally long, and sharp. 

To Jim’s irritation, back in the precinct, Harvey actually looked mildly surprised to see him, tipping up his hat. “How’d it go?”

“Fine,” Jim said flatly, sitting down at his desk.

“Didn’t get… chewed out, did you?” Harvey’s mouth turned up at the corners into a sly smirk, and Jim grit his teeth. 

“What the hell was all that? What is the Covenant?”

“Oh,” Harvey looked mildly disappointed. “So he didn’t show you. Look, son,” Harvey added quickly, when Jim took in a deep breath, “If I’d told you right off the bat - heh, right off the bat - you’d have tried to call the funny farm on me. Or you’d have thought I was just out to haze the new guy.”

“What?” Jim asked, confused. “Show me what? What _is_ the Covenant? What the hell is going on?”

Harvey sighed, and made a show of looking around. “Let’s go get a coffee. I’ll tell you about it, but _only_ ,” he added, when Jim opened his mouth, “If you don’t ask me _any_ questions. You got questions? Save them for the Captain. Or for the Wayne kid, if you’re still hell bent on talking to him later.”

Jim frowned. “How’d you know I was going to go back to talk to them ‘later’?”

“Because,” Harvey said, with a drawl of exaggerated patience, “The sun’s still out, that’s why. Now d’you want to hear about this or not?”

Nightfall and Jim was none the wiser, except for knowing that going back to Wayne Manor, by himself - no Harvey - was probably a Very Bad Idea, and Jim had done his share of Bad Ideas, when he’d been one grunt in an army of many on tour. Somehow, this one felt like the worst yet, to show up at Wayne Manor’s beautiful antique front doors and ring the buzzer. 

Alfred answered, almost instantly, as though he’d been lurking behind the door all this time, and there was a blankness to his expression as he studied Jim, none of the simmering impatience of the morning. “Let me guess,” Alfred said finally. “You don’t believe any of it.”

“It’s a hard sell.”

Alfred snorted. “One of those, eh? Righto. You still want to come in?”

“Please.” 

Alfred didn’t move. “Your service piece,” he said finally. “Give it to me.” 

“What?”

“Conditions of entry. I don’t like guns. You can get it back when you go.” 

“If the story that Harvey was telling me was true,” Jim continued stubbornly, “It’s not like normal guns can hurt you. Or Bruce.”

Alfred shrugged. “They stink, and they give humans a really inconvenient sense of self-importance, that they do. Works out far better for everyone when we’re being civilised. So hand it over or go away.” 

Reluctantly, Jim handed his revolver over, and Alfred held it lightly between thumb and middle finger, as though it would explode at any moment. He nodded at Jim, stepping aside, disappearing into what looked like a small cloakroom close to the entrance, and returning with his hands tucked behind him. 

“You’re not convinced,” Alfred said, as he led them both briskly through the vast foyer, heading for the leftmost exiting corridor. 

“Halloween’s tomorrow. I’m not convinced this isn’t some sort of prank on a newbie cop, in really bad taste.” 

Alfred rolled his eyes. “The old master and the lady are really dead, all right? No fucking prank there.” There was a harshness to his voice, a genuine edge of anger and grief, and Jim winced.

“I know that much. Sorry. I know.” 

“Well,” Alfred said venomously, “When your forensics guy has done fucking around with their bodies, we’ll like them back, please. Did you take a look, eh? Must have been pretty fucking interesting, eh?” 

Jim shot Alfred a wary glance, wishing, perhaps irrationally, that he still had his gun. “I took a look.”

“And? Still think it’s a prank?” 

Jim swallowed. He wasn’t new to corpses. But the Waynes’ bodies- “They weren’t… the same type of vampire.” _Vampire_. It took effort just to even say the word. 

“Neither am I. Neither is the young master, bless his soul,” Alfred muttered. “But just so you know, the old master’s body will be dust by tomorrow, but the lady still needs to be properly interred. It isn’t right, being turned into a freak sideshow just because they’re dead.” 

“No it isn’t,” Jim agreed uncomfortably, remembering the avid delight that had crossed Nygma’s face, when the bodies had been delivered to the morgue. “I’ll see what I can do.”

This time, the look Alfred shot him was one of pleasant surprise, curiosity, even, but then it shuttered back into blankness, as they paused outside a heavy door. “Right then,” Alfred said evenly. “The young master _does_ want to see you. But just so you know, he _is_ a kid, even by your human years. And he really _has_ lost his parents. Anything you need to get off your chest now?”

“I’ll be tactful.” 

“No, you’re going to be bloody _respectful_ ,” Alfred said, in a low whisper, “That’s what you fucking are. Or Covenant or not, my patience’s been worn thin today, and-“

“Alfred,” a muffled voice said, from behind the door, faint but firm. “Please let the Detective in.” 

Alfred bared his teeth at Jim, but his expression was bland again as he opened the door, waving Jim in with an ironic wave. The room within was as large as Barbara’s apartment, all mahogany furniture on a lushly embroidered carpet, the walls lined with glass cases of pottery and small bronze sculptures. Around a marble fireplace were two sets of long divans, and Bruce Wayne was sitting primly on one, his hands folded on his lap. Even knowing what he did now, Bruce looked absolutely human to Jim.

Jim sat awkwardly down on the divan opposite Bruce. “I’m sorry about what happened to your family.” 

Bruce’s expression remained serene, closed off. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be doing the best I can to find out who killed them.”

“Well,” Bruce said quietly, “There’s no need for that.”

“No…” Jim faltered. “What?”

“It’s very likely the Vassals,” Bruce continued, his tone as even as ever. “Vampire killers. They’re an organisation of humans, very well resourced. My parents were killed by a human: I could hear the rate of his heartbeat. He had two pistols, each chambered with a different bullet. Wood, for my father. Gold, for my mother.”

“If they’re vampire hunters then… why didn’t he…” Jim tried not to look at Alfred. 

“Finish the job? He tried. But neither wood nor gold works on me. I presume that’s the moment when he decided to run,” Bruce added, as he took a small pillbox from his pocket, and tossed it to Jim. “I should have followed,” Bruce added flatly, staring at his hands. “I should have done something.”

“Can’t do that,” Alfred said gruffly, “Without breaking the Covenant. The moment he ran out into the open, into public, he couldn’t be touched.” Alfred shot Jim a meaningful stare, and Jim’s point about the self-defense exception died unsaid in his throat. 

Jim looked at the pillbox, even though he didn’t need to. Within it were the mangled remains of two bullets: one that had been wood-tipped, one gold-plated. Both bullets had already been washed. “You didn’t mention being shot,” he said softly. “At the crime scene.”

“Here and here,” Bruce pointed over his chest. “I pulled my coat over it.”

“You’re… very calm.”

“Detective,” Bruce said quietly. “I’ve known this was to come all my life. At some point. Thank you for your concern. But it _is_ none of _your_ concern.” 

On the way out, a little shakily, Jim asked, “He really is eleven years old?”

“Yes,” Alfred sounded faintly amused, which Jim supposed was an improvement. “He really is a child.”

“How’s that possible?” Jim blurted out. “I mean. Harvey said. Vampires, uh, ‘turn’ humans. Right? Bruce wasn’t-”

“For the most part. Master Bruce is unique.” Alfred said firmly, and the amusement was gone, his tone flat again.

“Will the Vassals try again?” 

“Didn’t you hear what Master Bruce said? That’s none of your concern.”

“It _is_ ,” Jim retorted, “If some armed paramilitary group is targeting _children_.” 

The amusement was back: Alfred shot him another long, careful look, then he let out a low laugh that was, again, more a series of harsh barks than anything human. “You’re something different,” Alfred conceded, a little cryptically. “Usually, your kind has no real interest in our business.”

“Even though the Waynes own a company that’s the biggest source of jobs in Gotham’s private sector? Do people in Gotham know-“

“No, they don’t. And you can probably see why it’s kept on the quiet like,” Alfred drawled, “The human mob is an inconvenient thing. We’re none too fond of torches and pitchforks and peons storming the castle, don’t y’know.” 

“Then the killer has to be caught,” Jim pointed out, trying to ignore Alfred’s pointed amusement. “The murder was too public. It’s headline news right now. I’m surprised you aren’t knee deep in press hounds.” 

“They did camp outside the gate for a while, but were encouraged to leave,” Alfred said blandly. “A killer will be caught.”

“ _A_ killer? Not _the_ killer?”

“Quite so.”

“That isn’t right. You can’t scapegoat a totally different man!” 

“One moment,” Alfred said, and disappeared into the cloakroom again, returning with Jim's gun, handing it back, butt first. “Now. Such matters, Detective, are not up to _me_. But by all means. If you can find the true killer, drag him to justice. But I won’t be holding me breath.”

II.

“I’m human,” Fish Mooney said, her sultry drawl thick with amusement. “Every inch. Before you ask. But a pretty boy like you,” she added, as she sashayed closer, running a manicured hand lightly over Jim’s arm, “I wouldn’t mind letting you make a thorough check.”

“Ahh,” Harvey hastily, and to Jim’s relief, pried Fish off him. “Fish, Fish. Don’t be like that. The kid’s new.” 

Fish Mooney was one of Don Falcone’s most trusted lieutenants, according to Harvey. And she was human. Curious, Jim looked around them both again, at the glitz and gilt of the cabaret bar, the polished mahogany counter, the red velvet drapes, the leather seating. Barbara would probably have had a minor fit about the the decor had she been present, and if not for the way it was currently fully stocked with a complement of four heavyset variants of muscle, dressed up in black suits, Jim would have just thought it any other temple dedicated to alcohol and the death of human taste. 

“I know the look,” Fish purred, the amusement front and centre now. “What’s it like, Detective? Finding out that monsters are real?” 

“Now, you know they don’t like being called that,” Harvey muttered, with a sharp glance around them. “It’s not nice.”

“It is what it is,” Fish said, with playful indifference. “Are you really here to talk to me about the little turf war?”

“Turf war?” Harvey repeated, his eyebrows arching up. “I thought this had the Vassals stamped all over it.”

“Oops,” Fish pressed a hand over her mouth in mock surprise. “Did I say ‘turf war’?”

“You did,” Jim said flatly. “The Carpathians are making a move on the Waynes?” 

Fish sighed, and looked to Harvey, ‘tsking’ softly, and Harvey grimaced. “Jim, why don’t you, uh, take a five minute smoke break? Outside?” 

“But-“

“Now, partner.”

Irritated, Jim slunk off, leaving the gloom of the night club for the side alley. The men who had been ‘having a joke’ with another man, using clubs, had already cleared off, though bloodstains remained on the concrete. Jim glowered at them, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

By the time Harvey emerged, it was nearly the evening, and Jim’s feet were beginning to ache. They walked in silence to the car, and Jim didn’t speak even as he started the engine up.

“Look,” Harvey said at last, when they pulled into traffic. “The Covenant’s meant to be kept on the down-low, all right? If you start blabbing it everywhere, you’ll be taken care of. If you get off lightly, you’d just be laughed off and discharged from the force, blacklisted forever. If you don’t…”

“Falcone’s the head of the Carpathians, isn’t he?”

“In this neck of town, yes he is. But his Carpathians, they’ve had peace with the Waynes over in this corner of the world for _years_. Half a century or more, even. They didn’t believe in killing each other, when the city’s big enough for all of them.” 

“So the Waynes ran the legitimate half of the city, and Falcone runs the other?” Jim asked, his tone edged. “My father never said anything about _vampires_.“

“You father probably wasn’t in the know.” Harvey cut in. “Hell, you wouldn’t have been in the know either, if you hadn’t talked to the Wayne kid - twice - and if the shit with Montoya hadn’t gone down.”

“How come _you’re_ ‘in the know’?” 

“Stay long enough in Homicide and it’s a matter of progression.”

Jim bristled. “So you guys… cover up? For them?”

“Why don’t you say that a little louder?” Harvey growled. “And no. The Waynes source their blood from banks. It’s all legit.” 

“And the Carpathians?”

Harvey shrugged. “What we don’t see don’t fucking bother us. The system _works_. It’s worked for longer than I’ve been around. Since my grandaddy’s days, even. Don’t fucking rock the boat.”

“… So what did Fish talk to you about?” Jim asked, in what he hoped was a more conciliatory tone. “Is there a turf war?”

“Not between the Waynes and the Carpathians. But the Carpathians are always jockeying around each other. Fish hinted that there’s been a bit of internal strife recently. Sometimes factions get ambitious. It never really lasts. Don Falcone’s been around the block for centuries, I hear. Nothing really gets past him.” 

“So how did the Waynes get involved? It can’t have been by accident. The killer had two pistols.” 

“Fish thinks that the Waynes were shacked up good with only the old guard. Don Falcone’s mob. She thinks maybe someone else might’ve gotten jealous. Tipped off the Vassals, helped engineer a hit.” Harvey shook his head slowly. “What a fucking mess.” 

“If these Vassals intended to hit the Waynes all along,” Jim pointed out slowly, “Then why haven’t they tried again? It’s not as though the Waynes _aren’t_ living in the most recognisable piece of real estate in town.” 

“Fish said Pennyworth wasn’t around during the hit. Now he’s with the kid 24/7. That one’s a scary piece of work. Even the Carpathians think so.”

Jim remembered the way Alfred had laughed. The way he bared his _teeth_. “I can see that.” 

“But you know what I think?” Harvey continued, staring out at the street. “I think the Vassals realized pretty quickly that they couldn’t kill the kid. And that spooked the hell out of them. But once they figure it out…” Harvey mimed firing a gun. “They’ll finish the job for sure.”

“We could post a watch on the manor.” 

“Hah!” Harvey sneered. “Son. Here’s one thing you need to learn about this city. If it ever comes to a throwdown between one of _them_ and something: whether it’s another one of them or the Vassals? Us normal, vanilla humans? All we really _can_ do is stay the fuck out of their way.”

“Bruce Wayne is eleven years old. He’s a kid.”

“He’s also not human,” Harvey countered. “Nor is Pennyworth, or Don Falcone, or, so I heard, are the Vassals, not entirely anyway. Don’t make the mistake of thinking otherwise. This is a dud case. Let’s make sure it stays that way. _Without_ spilling out onto the streets.” 

“Serve and protect, huh?”

“Serve and protect. The _humans_.”


	2. Chapter 2

III.

Mario Pepper took the fall, despite Jim’s efforts to at least get the man into custody alive. Jim was unsmiling through his first press conference and thoroughly uncomfortable, which was why he ended up making the decidedly ill-thought-out decision to confront Fish over the faked evidence.

Fish strung him out to dry: quite literally - but thankfully, her love for theatrics meant that Harvey had time to bumble in for an attempted save. Which failed, leaving them both strung upside-down by their ankles in the meatpacking abattoir, alongside hunks of meat. Dizzy from all the blood racing to his head, Jim stared at the recording camera, waiting for the first cut - and that’s when the cavalry arrived.

“Humans,” Alfred drawled, high and to his right, and that was the first that Jim had even _known_ that Alfred was there. From the way Harvey flinched, and Fish’s muscle boys let out startled oaths, Jim knew he wasn’t the only one. A set of polished shoes tucked under the hem of perfectly pressed dove-gray trousers edged into Jim’s line of sight, upside-down. “Sorry, boys. Hate to rain on your fun.”

“You’re one of the Waynes,” the huge, heavy-set thug said warily. “This isn’t your turf. These coppers been saying things they shouldn’t have.”

“And I’m sure they’re very sorry about it, aye?” 

Still dizzy, Jim nodded, Harvey vigorously mimicking him. 

“There we go. All forgiven.”

“Fish says they’ve been trying to ruin the Fix,” the huge thug was starting to sweat, his face growing shiny, and Jim wishes for an irrational moment that he could see Alfred’s face. “Said they had to be taken care of!” 

“Not _this_ way,” Alfred growled, and even upside down and pale with terror, beside him, Harvey flinched again and averted his eyes at the serrated, harsh lisp that crept into Alfred’s voice. “Come on, boys. Time for you to go. You can do it on your own two feet… or in a body bag. And here’s a bit of a freebie: nothing you’ve got on you right now can hurt me.” 

To the thugs’ credit, they only backed up a couple of steps. “Covenant… Covenant says you can’t hurt us. There’s a deal. A deal!” 

Alfred let out his low, jerky laugh, except this time the harsh barks sounded torn, like coughed snarls. “ _Only if they catch me._ ” 

The thugs’ nerve broke in a collective wave, and they fled, scrambling away over the wet tile, all but slipping in their haste to get away. Alfred padded over to the camera, running a hand lightly over the small casing of the body, then, with no apparent effort, he crushed the device. 

“Thanks for the save, uh, Mister Pennyworth,” Harvey squeaked nervously, as Alfred ambled back, then Jim yelped as he abruptly tumbled off the hook. He scrambled up onto his knees, just in time to see Alfred sever the bonds on Harvey’s ankles with a small knife, which he pocketed up his sleeve, folding his hands behind his back. 

“Thank you,” Jim echoed, getting slowly and unsteadily to his feet. “But won’t this get you in trouble with, uh. With the Carpathians?”

“Oh, we’ve all been kicking around for a long time, us ‘monsters’,” Alfred shrugged lightly. “What are a couple of humans between friends?” he added, back to his attitude of faintly sardonic amusement. “Best be on your way, detectives. And do try to be careful in the future. Falcone isn’t _too_ concerned over the lives of a couple of human detectives. But he might be persuaded to be.”

“Why’d you save us?” Jim persisted, narrowing his eyes. “Our lives can’t be that important to you, either.” 

Harvey hastily caught Jim’s elbow. “Uh, that is to say, we’re real thankful for your intervention, Mister Pennyworth, and we’ll be on our way _right now_ -“

“Master Bruce would like to meet you for tea, Detective Gordon. Tomorrow. Ten in the night.” Alfred smiled faintly, showing his teeth. “Don’t be late.” 

Jim only started shaking when Harvey shoved him towards the cop car, still parked outside the abattoir, and Harvey eyed him for a moment, then fumbled around in the glovebox for a steel flask. “Right. I’m driving. You drink.” 

“T-thanks.” Jim managed a quarter of the cheap whisky in the flask before his voice was finally steady again. “What Alfred Pennyworth did. Is that normal?”

“Save a couple of dumb cops? Nope.” Harvey scowled at the road. 

“If the Covenant doesn’t let the vampires hurt us, why did Fish string us up?”

Harvey rolled his eyes. “She’s not a vampire. Humans can do whatever they like to each other.” 

“But she’s affiliated with the Carpathians-“

“The Covenant is what it is.” Exhaling loudly, Harvey added, “I don’t like this.”

“You’d rather have been… have been-“

“ _Hell_ no. But I don’t like one of _them_ taking an interest in me either. Or me-by-association,” Harvey added meaningfully. “Whatever you said to that one, or the Wayne kid? It must have left one hell of an impression.”

Jim shuddered. “I don’t think so.” 

“No? I’ve _never_ heard of them bothering to save any of us before. Or inviting anyone over for ‘tea’.” Harvey frowning at the road, his jaw setting tight. “And if you can manage it, try to find an excuse to get out of it. I mean it.” 

“Maybe it’s just because we returned the, uh, we returned the Waynes’ bodies to the house.”

Harvey looked genuinely puzzled. “Why should they care? Once you get turned into a vampire, you’re already dead. _Un_ -dead. Just happens that they’re all-the-way dead now, s’all.” 

Jim gave up. “Thanks. For coming after me back there.”

“That doesn’t sound like a ‘Yes, Harvey, I will not go for tea with a couple of monsters’.”

“It isn’t.” Jim agreed quietly, screwing the lid back onto the flask. “Alfred saved our life, and you said that they take blood from the banks, right? They’re-“

“They’re nice, tame fluffy dogs, is what you think?” Harvey drawled. “You think Fish would buy muscle that would just run away from a few threats, if they didn’t know exactly what they were up against?”

“I don’t think that Alfred or Bruce Wayne mean the police any harm.” 

“Or they might stash you in the cellar and bleed you for their dinner,” Harvey said, with a certain ghoulish sort of satisfaction. “And this time round, I won’t be coming ‘round to save your ass. You hear me?”

“Yeah. Harvey,” Jim added, when Harvey sucked in an irritated breath. “When I entered the GCPD, I had no idea about any of this, okay? But it looks like the Waynes and Falcone are key to how Gotham runs. And there’s no point doing a job unless you do it properly. I need to understand how the ‘system’ works.” 

The statement sounded hollow even to his ears, but Harvey didn’t call Jim out on it. “It’s your funeral,” Harvey eyed him unhappily. “And I mean that literally.”

IV.

Jim was surprised to see that the table had been set for two: two cups of tea, and a selection of biscuits, miniature cakes and even carefully cut finger sandwiches. He was in the room with the fireplace again, and Alfred had served up the refreshments before returning to his place behind Bruce, hands folded behind his back. When Jim glanced up briefly at Alfred, Alfred offered him a brief, sardonic smile before his expression went blank again.

“Thanks for uh, saving my life.” Jim started off by saying. “And my partner’s.”

“Alfred mentioned that you weren’t likely to be the sort to let go of something so easily.” Bruce noted. “So I told him to keep an eye on you.”

So it had been Bruce, after all. “Thanks again. But don’t you need Alfred in here? Your life might still be in danger.” 

“On a vampire’s home ground, the Vassals will hunt by day,” Bruce pointed out. “They can’t catch me at night. Not here.”

“So you, uh, sleep during the day?” 

“Not very polite to ask, is it?” Alfred drawled, but Bruce raised a palm, and Alfred subsided, if clearly with ill grace.

“It’s a matter of habit and appearances,” Bruce said evenly. “My parents were only… active during the night. My mother by choice, my father by necessity. So we were a rather nocturnal family.”

“If the Vassals come during the day… you’ll be all right? Won’t burn up in the sun or something?” Jim hazarded.

“I’ll be fine. Worry about yourself, Detective. As you’ve no doubt determined, it’s… unhealthy for a human to get himself involved in our business.” 

“So you’re telling me to let things slide? Let Pepper take the fall?”

“He’s _already_ taken the fall,” Bruce said quietly. “Don Falcone assures me that Pepper’s family is not only better off without him, he’ll ensure that they will be comfortable for the rest of their lives.”

“Don Falc… you’re talking to the mobsters?” 

“This city is run on a triumvirate balance,” Bruce reminded Jim mildly. “There will be a meeting at midnight. Don Falcone’s a little of a traditionalist in that way, so Alfred tells me. I’ll like you to be present.” 

Jim glanced up at Alfred with a frown. “I thought that you told me to stay out of Don Falcone’s attention.”

Alfred shrugged. “The young master has his reasons.”

“It’s up to you, of course,” Bruce added earnestly. “I can guarantee your safety at the meeting. But not all the time. Elsewhere. Alfred can’t always be watching you.”

“Why do you want me to be present?”

“Perspective.” Bruce said, his expression pensive. “I think that you’re an honest man. Maybe even a good man. Alfred says you’re not very clever, but I don’t think that’s a setback.”

Jim looked at Alfred. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Alfred smirked faintly. 

Bruce ignored their little byplay. “So I’ll like your perspective on this meeting. As an advisor.”

“Well,” Jim said awkwardly, “I can’t see what help I’ll be there. Uh. Up until yesterday, I didn’t even _know_ that there was such a thing as _vampires_.”

“I was never involved in my parents’ negotiations with the Carpathians and the humans,” Bruce said mildly. “It wasn’t yet time. And Alfred was never present in any advisory capacity. You see, Detective,” Bruce added, “This three-way truce was my mother’s idea. Her brainchild. If it were up to my father, and Don Falcone, they would have split the city up just between the two of them, with the humans irrelevant at best, fodder at worst. It’s what they’ve always done. But my mother’s way? It works better. Everyone saw it. Now that she’s gone, though…” Bruce swallowed. “I would like to honour her wishes.”

“You want me there,” Jim said slowly, “Just to make sure that you’re doing the… _human_ thing? Really?”

“The current Mayor’s under Carpathian influence, so my mother always thought. So. Yes. I’ll like you to be there. As a failsafe.”

“Can I think about it?” Jim asked helplessly. 

“You have an hour before we have to go.” Bruce took a sip of his tea. “Biscuit?” 

“Actually, if it’s all right with you, I’ll… I’ll like to take a walk. Clear my head.” 

Bruce made a dismissive gesture, and Jim all but scrambled to his feet. The room felt oppressive all of a sudden, and he stumbled his way out, leaning and gasping against the wall outside, then he flinched violently as he felt a firm touch against the small of his back.

“This way,” Alfred said briskly, and nearly frogmarched him along the corridor, propelling him gently but inexorably forward, until they were out of a side door and into the gloom of the vast garden grounds. Jim rested his palms on his knees, sucking in deep, strangled breaths, breathing in the earthy scent of the grounds, the crushed grass under his feet. 

“I thought I was here for tea,” Jim gasped out, without looking up. “Not to be some sort of… some sort of diplomatic _aide_ to a bunch of _vampires_.”

Alfred hummed, low and deep in his throat. “Not an aide, not so much. Think of yourself as a sort of… set of subtitles, perhaps. Bruce isn’t yet very good at reading the human world.”

“Won’t you be? How old are you?”

Alfred let out his low, barking laugh. “Oh, I’ve never been very good at humans, either.” 

“Were you…” Jim straightened up, made himself turn around. Alfred was standing quietly in the shadow of a vast, creeping ivy, his smile faint and inscrutable, hands still folded behind his back, impeccable in his navy three-piece suit. A silver watch chain ran from his pocket to within his vest, and Jim stared at him, blinking. “Silver.”

“Oh yes.” Alfred patted his pocket. “Get some silver through me heart, and it’s lights out.”

“ _Why_ are you wearing it, then?”

Alfred bared his teeth, and his laugh was soundless, this time. “Keeps me humble.”

“Were you… were you stronger than the Waynes?” Jim blurted out. When Alfred arched his eyebrows, Jim added, “Fish said that the hit probably happened because you weren’t there.”

“There’s different types of strength,” Alfred said flatly, quiet all over again. “The old master and the lady, they didn’t think they were in any sort of danger. They done it before, see? Caught a play with the young master, cabbed it home. Didn’t want me to have to drive circles ‘round the city waiting to pick them up.” His lip curled faintly. 

“Someone knew their routine. Knew you wouldn’t be there.”

“They’re only the most recognisable family in this part of the country,” Alfred drawled, though he narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?” 

“If there’s trouble at this meeting…” 

“Oh, that.” Alfred relaxed. “Well. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Beyond all odds and good sense, Jim believed him. Alfred radiated a brutal sort of confidence, an aggressive aura of competence that had cowed Fish’s muscle into fleeing just after a few choice words. Alfred was not in the least afraid of the upcoming meeting. 

“If you’re stronger than the… than the Waynes. Why are you serving them?”

“Said there was different types of strength, didn’t I?” Alfred shot back, a little disdainfully. “Well? You done?” 

“Yeah.” Jim exhaled. “All right. I’ll go. To the meeting.”

“Good. One thing, though,” Alfred added amiably, when Jim made as if to step past him and back into the manor. 

Just as Jim started to turn, on reflex, there seemed to be a sudden… _blur_ … and then, disoriented, he was pinned up against the brick, next to the door. He hadn’t even seen Alfred _move_. Fingers like steel bands were curled tight around his neck, just enough to be uncomfortable, and Alfred smiled, inches from his face. 

“Just so you know,” Alfred drawled, “You’ll be going as an advisor. Part of Master Bruce’s entourage, as it were. You’re there to observe, not open your trap. Understand?”

“I understand,” Jim gasped, blinking hard, even more disoriented than ever - where he’d thought to feel panic, or anger, he only felt like he was cocooned in some sort of blanketing _warmth_ , that settled all around him like a slow cloud. He blinked again, more slowly, and it felt like his knees were starting to give out. If he could, he would have tipped up his chin, bared his throat, and although a faint ping of worry wormed in, it was only on the barest surface. 

Alfred frowned at him, sniffing. “What.” Alfred muttered, low and oddly confused, then his hands were clenched in Jim’s collar, instead, his mouth pressed to Jim’s throat, close-lipped. Alfred was warm, Jim noted dazedly, funny that - he’d thought that vampires were meant to be cold - and when his lips grazed Jim’s neck as Alfred took in a deep breath, Jim let out a harsh, tiny sound. 

“Hrr,” A low, rumbling sound shook against Jim’s chest, pinned as he was between Alfred and the wall, then Alfred let out a soft chuckle, a more human sound than anything Jim had heard out of him yet. “Well, well.” 

Then Alfred stepped away, and the strange, warm cocoon around his mind seemed to slip away all at once, as though he was sucked out into an airless void. Jim staggered back against the wall, gulping for breath, one hand jumping to his throat to check the unbroken skin, blindly. 

“Don’t worry,” Alfred drawled. “What I’ve got ain’t transmitted by bite or blood.”

“What did you do to me?”

“Nothing.” Alfred studied him again, closely. “Hrr. Let me guess, Detective. You’ve always been good with dogs. They’ll follow you down the street if they could. And even the biggest, meanest ones would sit down and lick your hand if you’d come close, even if they don’t know you from Adam.”

“… And so?” Jim asked, wary again, but Alfred merely smiled again, his mirthless, toothy smile. 

“Merely a curiosity. Now let’s be heading back into the house, eh? Time to go.”

“You were trying to scare me off,” Jim said slowly. “Weren’t you?”

Alfred shrugged, not even bothering to hide it. “No offense. But me and the young master, we’ve only just met you. I don’t see any reason for him to trust you.” 

“I don’t scare that easily,” Jim scowled. 

“More’s the pity.” 

“ _You’re_ the one who must have told Bruce that I was an honest man.”

“Good man, too,” Alfred added, with the thin edge of amusement in his tone. “I had you checked out, war hero. Your record’s so clean, it could blind a man looking down at it from space.”

“So-“

“And so,” Alfred continued, “That’s exactly why I told the young master not to get you involved any further. You see,” Alfred said, ignoring Jim’s attempt to interrupt, “A bad man’s got his levers, and a dishonest man, well, you’ll know where he’d turn. But the righteous man will always do what he thinks is the right thing, the devil take the consequences, and those kinds of humans?” Alfred’s smile widened. “I don’t like them.”

“It’s not up to you though, is it?” Jim retorted, dredging up Alfred’s own words. “Pity.” 

“Think you’d hide behind a little boy, eh?” 

“ _I_ think,” Jim said, very carefully, “That your attitude’s a little strange, for someone who’s lost two friends. Where were you two nights ago?”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed into amber slits. “Wayne manor.” 

“Not much of an alibi, is it?” 

“The whole house’s fitted with security cameras,” Alfred said, his voice low and even, though his hands clenched tightly. “You’re welcome to the footage, if you fucking want. And you’re real lucky,” he added, through gritted teeth, “That you’re here as a guest of the young master, saying something like that to me face.”

“You didn’t seem too interested in the fact that a fall guy was named-“

“I’m not interested in the workings of human society,” Alfred interrupted. “All the old master wanted on that end was to keep things running smoothly. If that means one human who likes to beat his mate and kid dies along the way? I don’t give a rat’s arse.” 

“But-“

“I am _very_ interested in who really _did_ kill my friends,” Alfred added, his teeth a sharp, white arc in the dim light of the moon. “But I don’t think _that’s_ something that you have the capability to discover. I’m sniffing after it myself.”

“You’re bound by the Covenant,” Jim pointed out. “I’m not.” 

“I’m bound by the Covenant in _Gotham_ ,” Alfred corrected. “Now step lively, Detective. Try not to embarrass us at the meeting.”


	3. Chapter 3

V.

Alfred drove. Jim had tried to get into the front passenger seat, part habit, part politeness, but Bruce had waved him to the back, and Alfred had shot him a sly, faint smirk over his master’s shoulder.

Oddly enough, Alfred’s sardonic humour had returned the moment they had stepped back inside the manor proper, though he said nothing at all when ushering Jim back to Bruce. Jim tried to ignore it at first, tried not to even look at Alfred at all, but it was strangely and disconcertingly difficult. His mind kept returning to what had happened - how he had been pinned against the wall, with Alfred flush against him, how Alfred had _sniffed_ his _neck_ , more like a man-shaped beast than anything-

“Detective,” Bruce said, and Jim startled. Bruce shot him a mildly surprised look.

“Yes?”

“It may be improper,” Bruce noted, a little hesitantly, “But there are a few… protocols, I understand, at such meetings. So allow me to apologize in advance if matters are impolite.”

“Impolite?”

“You won’t be introduced to anyone else,” Bruce said apologetically. “Most likely, those present will think you either a servant or a thrall. And I may have to treat you that way. It is a little of a necessary disguise, I’m afraid.”

“Well, whatever’s necessary,” Jim said, puzzled. “But how am I supposed to advise you, or whatever I’m there for, if I’m meant to sit in the background?”

“You won’t be sitting in the background,” Bruce said, his tone turning even more apologetic. “You’ll be sitting, ah, on the ground. It may not be very comfortable. But just pull my sleeve if you need to get my attention. And my hearing is very good. Speak as softly as you can, if you must, and I’ll hear you.”

“But won’t there be another human - the Mayor-“

Bruce coughed lightly in embarrassment. “He’ll be there part of the Covenant. Other humans, though, may be a little hard to explain, if they aren’t attached to, ah, the Mayor.”

“You can’t seat me at the table because it’ll make you look weak,” Jim guessed, and Bruce grimaced, looking away, out of the window.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. I get it. I was just hoping to get a good look at Don Falcone, if I could,” Jim said softly. “When he talks to you about your parents. I want to know if he’s really sorry that they’re gone.”

“I doubt it,” Bruce noted dryly. “But if you mean, do you think he’ll be telling me the truth… Alfred’s ears are far better than even mine, and he’ll know, if something’s not quite right.” 

“I don’t like this,” Jim noted evenly. “But I agreed to help, so I will.” 

“One other thing,” Bruce added, a little more hesitantly. “There may be humans. With the Carpathians.”

“I know. I’ve met Fish Mooney, remember? Got on her bad side, at that.”

“Not just their tools. Their, uh.”

“Pets,” Alfred supplied, his tone bland. “Carpathians are old-fashioned as they get. They attract people looking to live forever. ‘Cept that most of us are pretty careful about who we turn. So any sort of human tacked on to the Carpathians might be looking for the big time, but they won’t get it. After a while, they might not care anymore.”

“Might not be something you might be comfortable seeing,” Bruce murmured, though he stared hard at his own hands.

“You don’t like it either,” Jim guessed, and he tried a tentative smile, though it didn’t quite catch.

“Mother didn’t like it. She tried to put a stop to it. But there was nothing she could do. It didn’t break the Covenant.”

“It sounds,” Jim said gently, “Like Gotham has a lot to thank Martha Wayne for.”

Bruce glanced out at the window again instead of answering, shifting a little closer to it. They were driving through into the city proper now, through to South Point in Uptown, and uncomfortably, Jim wondered what Barbara was up to. Harvey had reluctantly agreed to cover for him by saying that he was out on a stakeout, if she tried to check up on him by contacting the precinct, but other than that, Jim was on his own. 

On Montague street, Alfred squeezed the Bentley into a small space against the curb, and got briskly out of the car, making it to the door before Jim could let himself out. He smirked at Jim again, faintly, as Jim straightened up awkwardly into the night’s chill, and his expression went blank again as Bruce pulled himself out of the car. 

They were on a residential block, looking down rows of terrace houses. Middle class, as far as Jim could tell, not that he was particularly familiar with this side of town. He looked to Alfred, puzzled, but Alfred was already striding away, down two houses, coming to a stop outside an unassuming white terrace house, and climbing up the steep front steps to rap briskly at the door. 

The latch opened briefly, then closed, and the door opened, yawning into a dimly lit corridor. Alfred walked in first, sweeping the corridor with a narrow-eyed glance before nodding to Bruce, who stepped in, with Jim at his heels. 

Inside, there was a thickset man in a suit at the door, Asiatic in appearance, but before Jim could look too closely, Alfred had slipped an arm firmly around his waist, and Jim had to either start walking or get dragged along. Alfred smirked at him again, but this time there was something hungry in his eyes, something feral in his smile as he patted Jim lightly on the ass and let out a low chuckle as Jim yelped, but even as Jim tried to twist free, Alfred’s hand clamped tight on his hip, tugging him closer.

“Eyes on the floor,” Alfred whispered into his ear, lips pressed against the shell as though nuzzling it. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” 

Jim grit his teeth, but allowed Alfred to tug him along, keeping his eyes fixed on the gray carpet under his feet. The narrow corridor was unfurnished, and occasionally broken by a closed door, but eventually it led to an open one, just before an empty room that would probably have served as a kitchen in a normal home. 

Alfred let go of him, and went first down the stairs. At the foot, he looked briefly about, then glanced back up and nodded. On the way down, Bruce squeezed Jim’s hand briefly, apologetically, and Jim offered him what he hoped was an encouraging nod. He was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea after all - for _Bruce_. Vampire or not, Bruce _was_ only eleven years old. Even if Alfred was confident, this had to be a gamble.

The basement didn’t serve to make Jim feel any better about the situation. There was another door, closed, far to Jim’s right, across the plain concrete floor. The basement was far larger than it had any right to be, for a terrace house of the size that they had entered, and, like the corridor, was starkly unfurnished, save for a round stone table in the centre, with three stone chairs. 

One was already filled, with the Mayor, who shot Jim a rabbity look of surprise. Behind the Mayor were a handful of men and women whom Jim had never seen before, but he was careful not to meet their eyes, not even looking up when Bruce walked over and shook the Mayor’s hand, introducing only himself and Alfred. 

Alfred’s arm was back around Jim’s waist, his lips against Jim’s ear. “Might want to sit down now. On the floor.” 

“But the Mayor-“ Jim began to protest, in a murmur. 

“Down, pet,” Alfred drawled, audible enough for even the Mayor to hear, and nipped Jim’s ear, tugging suggestively at the fleshy lobe. Flushing in irritation and embarrassment, Jim sat down awkwardly next to Bruce’s chair, and tried not to glare when Bruce settled on the cushion and absently carded a small palm through his hair, like petting a dog. 

The table was high enough that Jim couldn’t look over it without it being obvious, and he occupied himself by trying to eavesdrop on the Mayor and his advisors instead - a futile attempt, as it turned out. Only moments after he sat down, there was a sudden hush, and under the table, Jim could make out people coming in through the other closed door, well-dressed, by the look of their shoes and trousers. Three men.

“Bruce Wayne.” An affable, deep voice drifted closer. “I hoped to meet you later in your life, under better circumstances.”

“Don Falcone.” Bruce was shaking someone’s hand - a heavyset man, in a suit: an old man, to Jim’s surprise, with crow’s feet at his eyes and silvery hair, and sagging jowls at his throat. He didn’t look the least bit like a vampire, didn’t even feel… _off_ , the way Alfred had. “My parents had much to say about you.”

“Not often in a kindly way, I presume. Meet my friends. Your friends, as well. This is Giovanni, one of my trusted lieutenants, and an old, old friend. And this is Cesar, another friend. He used to trade horseflesh tips with your father. A mutual hobby.” 

Three Carpathians.

“So this is the famous Bruce Wayne.” Cesar’s tone was absolutely inflectionless. “Pleased.” 

“Pleased,” echoed another man, out of sight, his voice lighter and higher pitched in tone. Giovanni, Jim presumed.

Don Falcone then glanced at Alfred. “Alfred Pennyworth.”

Alfred inclined his head, without speaking, and Falcone smiled faintly before turning to greet the Mayor. He hadn’t even looked once at Jim, and Jim felt briefly and resolutely relieved, up until Falcone sat down at the table. 

“My apologies,” Falcone said, still affable. “I had no idea that Detective Gordon was one of yours. I would have restrained Miss Mooney myself, had I known.”

Jim stiffened up, and he could see Bruce tense slightly, but then Alfred drawled, “One of mine, actually.” 

“Oh? Now that _is_ a surprise.” 

Alfred let out one of his low, barking laughs. “I wouldn’t be too hard on the lad. He’s pretty and he’s got his uses.” 

“No doubt. Martha’s rules must have been very strict for you.” 

Jim couldn’t see Alfred from where he sat, but he could hear the serrated growl creep into Alfred’s voice. “Thomas and Martha have been my closest _friends_ for well over two centuries.”

“Yes, of course. And mine,” Falcone added, his tone not even changing a hitch. “You see, Bruce - if I may call you Bruce - your mother was a very… sweet lady, shall we say, and most beautiful. A beautiful soul. But she did have her quirks. And your father indulged her in everything. He loved her so. Very rightfully.”

“I sit in their place now,” Bruce said, his tone mild, as though observing the weather. “In my own name. Not theirs.”

“As it would eventually have been,” Falcone agreed. “First matters first. This matter of the Vassals and their incursion into our shared territories is most distressing. I have had agents scouring Gotham for the culprit. Using human agents during the day, as well. The Mayor has kept a watch on the exits of Gotham as well - quietly.” 

“Thank you.” 

“No, no. Vassals are… how is it to say. They do not just kill one or two vampires. They will keep killing until they themselves are scourged. Like pests. It is remarkable enough that you survived.”

“They tried,” Bruce said curtly. 

“So I heard,” Falcone said, and now there was a faint edge to his tone, that Jim couldn’t quite place. “It is a remarkable thing that your parents have done. With WellZyn, is it not? The company?”

“There are many research arms in Wayne Enterprises.”

“But only one dedicated to the research of our species. The… betterment of our species, shall we say.” 

“As you say,” Bruce said, almost indifferently. “WellZyn is my family’s business. Gotham Above. Gotham Below. That was the agreement between your family and mine, was it not?” 

“Yes, of course-“

“But I think it is in the interests of the city for there to be fewer secrets among us, Falcone,” Bruce said earnestly. “Since you are hunting my parents’ killers. My parents never told you why they felt that WellZyn was none of your concern. To be honest,” he said, a little self-deprecatingly, “My father was embarrassed by it.” 

“Embarrassed? Thomas Wayne?” Falcone repeated, his tone skeptical. “Surely not.”

“WellZyn is one of the most well-funded Wayne Enterprises subsidiaries, and one of the most opaque. It does conduct experiments on genomes modified by the vampire, ah, effect. That much is true. But what my parents were hoping to find was a cure-all. Vampires are immune to human diseases. My parents were interested in distilling that immunity - without transference of vampiric natures - into a form that could be distributed as a generic drug.” 

“Your mother was, you mean,” Falcone said, though his tone was studiously gentle, this time. Still, at least the skepticism was gone. 

“Father said that you would think that he was going soft.”

“I see why he would.”

“There’s no difference, in my opinion,” Bruce said blandly, “To a human spending money on vets to treat their livestock, and us trying to find a cure-all for all of humanity’s ills. So with your leave or without it, I do intend to continue funding WellZyn.” 

“Well, Bruce, when you put it that way,” Falcone said, with quick good humour. “I’m sure that the Mayor agrees, as well.”

“Oh yes,” the Mayor burbled quickly. “Very admirable.” 

“Good things do come out of that… subsidiary. You are a product of WellZyn, after all,” Falcone noted idly. “And a most remarkable one.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, with polite dismissiveness, and the rest of the meeting passed with little more than pleasantries. At one point, the Mayor’s re-election chances were even discussed. Under the table, Jim would have rolled his eyes if he dared. He shifted again, uncomfortably. The concrete ground was cold, and he was starting to grow cramped. 

Leaning his temple against the stone table helped, briefly, and Jim was starting to doze off when Bruce said, almost idly, “And about the Arkham project. How is progress?”

Bruce’s hand landed lightly on his shoulder, and Jim blinked rapidly, nearly barking his head against the table as he flinched. Arkham? What?

“Ah, you see, Bruce,” the Mayor said nervously, “There were always many plans for Arkham. Your parents, of course, were the ones to acquire the land, with the assistance of the City, of course. The agreement was always, as always, to divide the project itself between your family and Falcone, with the City, ah, to benefit.”

Jim couldn’t see the Mayor, but the high, reedy note to his voice was impossible to ignore. He tugged Bruce’s sleeve lightly, and Bruce’s hand squeezed his shoulder briefly. “I’m not entirely familiar with the agreement,” he said, sounding both apologetic and young. 

“Your father wanted the land dealt with responsibly. Your mother wanted a mental institution built upon it, with the City to budget care even for those with no access to healthcare benefits. For all, as it were. Falcone agreed with your father. And the City agreed to help fund the asylum’s upkeep.”

“I see,” Bruce said, doubtfully. “Yes, my mother was very excited about her plans for the asylum.” 

“And her wishes will be honoured to the letter,” Falcone rumbled. “I’ll be overseeing the asylum’s planning and construction myself.” 

“Not the land deals?” Bruce asked, sounding as surprised as Jim felt, though he ignored Jim’s second tug on his sleeve.

“No. Your mother and I may have had our differences. But insanity’s the only poison that transcends the vampiric touch. God knows that the Vassals could all use a stint in a mental hospital or two.”

VI.

“I wasn’t exactly necessary in there,” Jim said, still rubbing his sore back as Alfred pulled the car into the silent streets.

“No, I suppose not.” Bruce’s tone was apologetic. “I was hoping to get them to discuss the Arkham project more thoroughly. It was all that my parents talked about, in the months up to… up to what happened.” 

“I’m not exactly an investment banker or a financier by any means, but I didn’t think that there was better money to be made in building a mental hospital than cutting land deals.”

“Yes. I could see that. Something else is wrong.” Bruce huffed out a long sigh. “Falcone never liked my mother.”

“Understatement of the century,” Alfred said, from the front of the car, and Bruce smiled wryly.

“Somehow,” Jim said helplessly, “I didn’t think there would be _class differences_ among _vampires_.”

“The Carpathians are notorious for disliking other species.” 

“No, _that’s_ the understatement of the century,” Alfred murmured. 

“Considering the long-standing feud that most Carpathians have engaged in against what they call the ‘American Vampire’, of which my mother was one, I suppose that sitting down at a table with one and discussing land deals would be almost domestic.” Bruce ignored Alfred.

“Wasn’t your father a Carpathian?”

“No. Close.”

“Did he…” Jim hesitated. “Turn your mother?”

“Yes. She asked. They were already married.”

“Then how did she turn into something totally different?” Jim asked.

Bruce sighed. “That’s something that WellZyn had been trying to figure out. Trying to understand why the virus mutates as it does. Its key structure is the same across the board. But the way it reacts, the way it can change its host body in different ways even if the source is identical…”

“How does that cure human diseases?”

Bruce flicked a glance at him. “WellZyn’s true work is actually finished. I spoke to the director myself. Its pharmaceutical arms were continue to operate, of course, and its research departments. But not in the way it used to. It was already starting to wrap up.”

“Found the cure already?” 

“No,” Bruce said patiently. “WellZyn set out to create an unkillable vampire, Detective.” He glanced out of the window again. 

An unkillable vampire… Bruce? “Did they? Is that why Falcone brought that up so abruptly? He suspects something, doesn’t he?”

Bruce continued to stare out of the window. “We’ll drop you off at your apartment. Thank you for coming with me tonight. I’m sorry if you were bored.”

Still reeling at Bruce’s matter-of-fact statement, Jim mumbled, “It was, uh, interesting. Just. I’m not sure if I’ll want to do something like that again.” 

Not to sit on the concrete floor for over an hour, pretending to be an overgrown dog. And certainly _not_ to have to be manhandled by Alfred like some sort of _escort_. Right.

“As you like.”


	4. Chapter 4

VII.

“Jesus, Harvey, I’m _okay_ ,” Jim said, for the fourth time that day. “Seriously.”

“Yeah, because you’ve had four coffees and you’r still dozing off over the paperwork.”

“Paperwork isn’t that exciting.” Jim said, with a scowl.

“Maybes. ‘Specially, if you’ve maybe lost a bit over the top, eh?” Harvey tipped his head to the side meaningfully, baring his neck, and Jim exhaled irritably.

“Nothing like that happened. I’m serious. Nothing at all.”

“… Okay, but I think I’m still owed something, seeing as I had to cover for you with your girlfriend yesterday. And she asked some reaaal sharp questions, I should add.”

“Nothing happened, Harvey.”

“We got invited to the wake, y’know. For the Waynes.” Harvey flicked a nail at a gold-edged letter sitting on the table. “It’s tonight. Plush bit of real estate over in Gotham Cemetery.” 

Jim eyed his partner warily. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” 

“Are you crazy? ‘Course we have to go. Captain would have our balls for paperweights otherwise.” Harvey eyed him again. “You sure nothing-“

“I am _very_ sure, Harvey. Now don’t we have work to do?”

“We could get some steak for lunch-“

“How about _not_.” 

The gold-edged letter sat untouched on Harvey’s desk all the way through the morning and into the afternoon, where Jim finally realized what had been pulling at his nerves. They had just returned to the precinct from a futile attempt to find a witness for a drive-by shooting in Downtown, and on the way in, Lieutenant Carter from Vice hastily ducked out of their way without even greeting them.

“What?” Jim whispered in a low voice to Harvey, who scowled. “Why’s everyone treating us like we’ve got the flu?”

“You finally noticed huh.” Harvey muttered. “Balls for you.” 

“What’s happening?”

“What’s happening is that the word got around that Alfred Pennyworth personally hauled our asses out of the fire, that’s what, and nobody’s sure if we’ve gone over to the Waynes, or if Falcone’s still pissed at us, or if we’re part of some sort of power player throw down. Either way, we’re toxic right now. Even to the people who _don’t_ know The Story.”

“… Sorry.” 

“Hey, I appreciate the save,” Harvey said hastily. “But I’m kinda starting to wish I didn’t bother to come around to save _your_ bacon, if you had that kinda backup waiting in the wings.”

“Alfred showing up was a surprise to me too,” Jim protested, but the incident put Harvey in a grumpy mood, and in the end, the Captain even gave them both an early day, so that they could get home, clean up, and look ‘halfway respectable’ for a wake. 

Jim went home to his own flat, because Barbara was on her day off, and he really didn’t want to have to deal with questions, and her primping his coat, and possibly insisting on tagging along. His flat was Downtown, a few streets away from the GCPD HQ, a tiny space in an old housing block where the fire escape was actually a marginally safer ingress route than the ancient lifts or the dangerously narrow stairs. 

As he circled around to the fire escape, still yawning, Jim nearly walked right into the bumper of a parked black car. Illegally parked, at that. He glowered at it for a moment, then edged around it, about to head for the fire escape, when the window scrolled down, revealing the sleek, matte black gleam of a revolver muzzle. 

“Detective. Get in the back seat. We’re going for a drive.” 

Instinctively, Jim darted to his left, for the street, but then he seemed to run right into a wall - a large, muscular man with skin so nut-brown from the sun that Jim couldn’t immediately tell what race he was. He swung a punch, but the man dodged, grabbed his wrist, and wrenched his arm neatly behind Jim’s back, all in one fluid move, and shoved him pointedly towards the car. When the back passenger door was opened, the muscle pushed him roughly into the car, nearly barking Jim’s head against the edge of the car as he did so, then slamming the door shut.

The car immediately pulled out into the street, even as Jim was still blinking in shock. The person in the front with the gun was a young dark-haired woman in a ski mask, petite and slender, the gun trained at him through the gap between the headrest of the seat and the seat itself. The driver was a bespectacled middle-aged man with very pale skin, almost milk-white, his eyes fixed on the road. 

Beside Jim was a tall man in a gray suit and a charcoal coat, folded carefully onto the seat, his ascetic face narrow and thin, his mouth set into a flat line. His hair was silvery, with shaved sideburns, hacked short near the skull. Creases ran over his forehead, set deeply enough that the man looked as though a frown was his face’s natural default setting, and his eyes were hard and merciless.

“Detective Gordon. My apologies for the abruptness of our introduction.”

“… Okay,” Jim blinked slowly. “You’re committing at least two felonies, by the way.” 

The man ignored that, extending a long-fingered hand towards him. “I’m Agent Hobbes, of the Vassals of the Morning Star.”

Well… God damn. “All right then,” Jim warily shook his hand. “You’re, uh.”

“Under arrest?” The agent smiled thinly. 

“Well, maybe not per se, but I’ll like to get a statement from you, sure.” 

That got him a small, dry cough of a laugh. “You’re exactly as your file implies, Detective. That’s refreshing, in my line of work.”

“As compared to being a vampire, you mean?” 

This time it was another thin smile, mirthless as ever. “The Vassals had nothing to do with the killing of Martha and Thomas Wayne.”

“Pretty sure the paperwork we filed called it a ‘murder’. Two murders, if you want to be pedantic.”

“You can’t murder what isn’t human,” Hobbes corrected. “But yes. We had nothing to do with it.”

“Uh huh. Can you prove it?”

“Probably not to your satisfaction,” Hobbes said easily. “We have a great number of agents, not all of whom would have an ironclad alibi for the night in question. And yes, we could have killed them both, if we wished. But it was not in our interests to do so. Agent Montoya?” 

The muzzle of the gun didn’t move, but a thick manila folder was passed through the gap in the front passenger and driver seats to the back. Hobbes handed the file to Jim, who opened it awkwardly in his lap. 

Clipped to the top left were two photographs. One was Martha Wayne, younger, in a suit, smiling at the camera, with a strange symbol behind her, like a seven-pointed star with a cross set at its heart, tilted upside down. The other was a photograph of Martha and Thomas - Martha smiling, if tentatively, Thomas serious. 

The first document had only a few lines of text: 

_Agent Martha Kane_  
Discharged - Deceased  
CONFIDENTIAL  
Personnel File 

The file had been marked closed twice: the latest stamp was fresher, marked with the date of the murder. The previous stamp had been crossed out, with ‘REASSIGNED ASSET’ stamped over it in black ink, and the date of closure was nearly a century ago. 

“She was one of the Vassals.” Jim turned a few pages in the file. Some of the documents were printed on paper so old that it was yellowed and crackled as he touched them. “But Bruce said that she asked Thomas to turn her.”

Hobbes shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised. They were in love while they were both human. Thomas was on a business trip in Romania when he was turned, apparently by accident. He was a physician, already quite wealthy. She was the heir to a pharmaceutical empire.”

“What was she doing as part of the Vassals?”

“She wasn’t always a field agent. What she - and eventually, Thomas Wayne himself - were interested in was in finding a cure for vampirism. Due to the… importance of this endeavour, when Martha elected to be turned, to continue her work, we kept her on the records.”

“But never trusted them again?”

“On the contrary. We were quite good friends.” 

“As much as you can be friends with a monster, eh?” Jim frowned at Hobbes, who shrugged again.

“By all records she was a remarkable woman when she was alive. And continued to be so, even after. You look skeptical, Detective.” 

“Let’s say that this is the first that I’d heard of all this.” 

“No doubt. As you can imagine, it would be a secret well worth keeping from the Carpathians. Which is where we come in,” Hobbes added. “One week ago, Martha contacted her handler within the Vassals’ state office. She said that she was ‘as close as she’d ever be’ to cracking vampirism. To finding, if not a cure, then at least a vaccine. That was the last we heard of her.” 

“And you guys just went ‘OK cool, thanks’ and left it like that until she got shot on the street?”

“No,” Hobbes said patiently, “We told her that I would personally be coming down to Gotham from a project in Vietnam within the week to look at her findings. Now I am here, and yes, I am too late. She is dead. And WellZyn is out of our reach.”

Jim frowned. “WellZyn. Bruce told me that WellZyn’s purpose was. Ah. Something else.”

“Finding a cure for cancer?” Hobbes smiled faintly. “Good cover story. Nearly true, too.”

“No. Well.” Jim hesitated. “Bruce was created. By WellZyn. Right?”

“Yes. A lateral application of some genetic engineering principles had an… unexpected effect. They were using donated foetus and megaloblastic red blood cell samples from the prenatal stage, studying the effect of embryogenesis and vampirism-“

“Probably too much information right there,” Jim said hastily. 

“But in effect, yes. The creature they ended up naming ‘Bruce’ was transplanted and carried by Martha herself.” 

“‘Creature’, you say.”

Hobbes’ stare was sharp and cold. “Don Falcone, Martha Wayne, Thomas and Alfred Pennyworth - they were all human once, before they were turned. Bruce Wayne was never human, Detective. The Vassals felt that Martha and Thomas’ decision to keep the creature was a mistake. Let alone to name it their heir.” 

“ _Him_ ,” Jim corrected. “For God’s sake. Bruce really is a boy! I’ve met him. And he’s _eleven_.”

“And, to all effects and purposes, he has no weaknesses.” Hobbes said flatly. “A vampire with no weaknesses. He’s a ticking bomb. But we have other more immediate problems right now, God help us. Martha’s research, WellZyn’s true records. We want them.”

“And you come to me… why?”

“You’re close to Bruce Wayne. Alfred Pennyworth, as well.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘close’-“

“Close enough. The _only_ human anywhere close enough. And besides. Pennyworth should be predisposed to trust you.” 

“… I really don’t think so,” Jim said, with a startled laugh. 

“You’d be surprised.”

“Why? What’s so special about me?” 

“We can’t remain in the city for very long. Not without tripping up the Carpathians’ alarm network,” Hobbes said briskly. “We’ll let you off here. It’ll be a short walk back to your flat.”

“Wait-“ 

“You may keep the file. Here is my card.” Hobbes passed over a small, square white card, with only a number printed on it. “If you decide to do the right thing for your species - give me a call. We _need_ that cure, Detective.”

VIII.

The wake was, surprisingly, a quiet affair, with only perhaps twenty guests, standing silently under an overcast evening as the priest laid the bodies of Martha and Thomas to rest. Jim’s eyes kept jumping up to the skyline. If there was a sudden burst of sunlight, what would happen to Alfred? Or was Alfred not susceptible?

“Eyes on the prize, Gordon,” Harvey muttered beside him. They were standing awkwardly at the fringe of the crowd. “You’re fucking obvious. Waiting for a bit of undead fireworks, are you?”

“Maybe you should say that louder,” Jim retorted softly. Even on the edge of everyone, speaking in low voices, he could see Alfred’s head turn, very slightly, towards their direction. Harvey noticed as well - he grimaced. 

They waited self-consciously until most of the mourners had cleared off, then said something polite and forgettable to Bruce before retreating as quickly as dignity would allow. Alfred was expressionless, but Bruce offered them a quick smile. Jim couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Martha Wayne’s file was still in the boot of his car. He hadn’t dared leave it in his apartment - or in Barbara’s.

Heading straight home after the wake didn’t help with Jim’s nerves. He made excuses to Barbara about feeling too tired with work, ordered in take-out, and ate while reading the file through the night. He dozed off at some point, in between reading about a surprisingly convoluted mission in Budapest involving weird snake vampire monsters, and had confused dreams where he was being chased through an underground sewer network by giant crocodiles.

When he rolled off the couch by accident and barked his head on the ground, Jim woke up with a yelp, tangled in blankets that he didn’t remember fetching. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and froze when he saw Alfred perched on a chair at the tiny dinner table in the kitchenette, reading Martha Wayne’s file. The takeout boxes had all been disposed of, the messy pile of newspapers and magazines on the low table next to the tv organised into a neat stack, and the small potted plant that sat dying next to the window had freshly wetted soil.

“Uh,” Jim blinked again, then rubbed his eyes a second time. No luck.

“Yes, I’m really here, I got in through your window, and yes, before you ask, I did a bit of a tidy. Old habits, I’m ‘fraid.” Alfred said, without looking up. “Interesting bit of late night reading, this. Where’d you get it from?”

Alfred’s tone was idle, but Jim cautiously hauled himself up onto the couch, disentangling himself from the blanket, then getting to his feet. “Did you know? About Martha Wayne? Being an agent?”

“Well yes,” Alfred said, with a touch of impatience. “How d’you think we met? She shot me with a Carcano at ‘bout six hundred metres. Bloody good shot, given the wind. Couple of inches to the left and I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you.” 

“Does Bruce know?”

“No. Been waiting for a good time to have _that_ talk with him.” Alfred turned a page. “Ha. I remember hearing about this one. Sting operation over in Mombasa. Routed a whole nest of popobawas. Nasty business.” 

“Bruce thinks that the Vassals killed his parents.”

“Seems logical, innit?”

There was nothing in Alfred’s voice to indicate that Alfred was joking. “Maybe we should keep an open mind.”

“Maybe you should tell me where you got this file.” The faint edge of a growl crept into Alfred’s tone.

Irritated, Jim retorted, “It’s police business. And you can’t just waltz into _my_ apartment. It’s _private property_. I could arrest you for trespass.”

“Could try.” Alfred flashed him a sardonic smile. “Would be funny. The Vassals visited you, did they? You should be honoured. Old Man Hobbes don’t rouse his arse just for any old job.”

“What-“

“Could smell him on the file. Also, your expression just confirmed it.” Alfred snapped the file shut, and uncoiled from the table, narrowing his eyes. “Could be I might want to know what the two of you talked about.” 

“How about you leave, and I don’t arrest you?”

“Like I said,” Alfred drawled, as he strode closer, “Try. Go on. Make me laugh.” 

Jim felt, for a moment, frozen in place, like a rabbit caught before a cobra; he sucked in a thin, high breath before Alfred was right up against him, nearly touching, his greater height forcing Jim to look up to keep eye-contact. Gritting his teeth, Jim refused to panic. He was a _police officer_. 

“Alfred. Get out.”

“First,” Alfred growled, and his voice was ratcheting out of human registers, like words forced through lengthening jaws, “I _want to know what you’ve been saying to the Vassals_.” 

“Or what?” Jim snapped. “You’re going to hurt me? You can’t. And I don’t think Bruce would like it if you did.” 

Alfred bent, and his breath huffed over Jim’s jaw, trailing down to his neck, and even as Jim stiffened up, he refused to back off. “You,” Alfred growled, right against his pulse, “Really piss me off.”

“That’s-“ Jim began, but the rest of his outrage was swallowed in a yelp as Alfred shoved him. Jim tripped backwards over the couch, but even as he tried to scramble back up, Alfred was on top of him, growling in a low, continuous rumble as he pressed his mouth back against Jim’s neck, breathing deep, pinning Jim’s hands down against the ratty old leather by the wrists. 

“A-Alfred,” Jim gasped, squirming, then he shivered instead as Alfred started to _lick_ him, what the fuck, lapping over his pulse, his growl growing deeper.

“Fuck,” Alfred slurred. “Why the fuck do you have to smell so _good_?” 

“How… I… w-what-“ Jim stammered, then froze up as Alfred made a harsh, impatient sound and kissed him, hard and sure on the mouth, thrusting his tongue into Jim’s mouth when Jim’s lips parted in sheer shock. It was the most brutal kiss that Jim had ever gotten, and the most hungry, and as much as a small part of his brain was screaming at him to twist away, to knee Alfred in the balls, it felt like he was drifting again, in a warm cloud, kissing Alfred back with a low moan that brought out Alfred’s dry, muffled chuckle in response. 

When Alfred let go of his wrists, Jim wrapped his arms around Alfred’s neck, still blindly kissing him back. It felt like this could go on forever, this bubble of lust and barely hidden violence, that burned the blood in his veins like nothing he had ever tried.

“Ever been with a man before?” Alfred drawled against his ear, when Jim was gasping for air.

“Yes,” Jim said automatically, then he flushed and squirmed. Oh God. _Barbara_. “I’ve got a girlfriend.”

“You don’t kiss like you’ve got a missus,” Alfred smirked. “You kiss like you’re ready to get down on your knees,” he added, nipping at Jim’s ear and making him gasp, “And suck my cock into your pretty little mouth.” Alfred nudged his knee pointedly up against Jim’s thigh, and Jim grit his teeth, digging his nails into his hands to keep from bucking against the welcome pressure. “Right before you ride me on the couch.” He squeezed the growing tent in Jim’s trousers, and this time, Jim did buck into the pressure, whimpering. 

“I can’t-“

“Mm,” Alfred licked a playful stripe from Jim’s chin, over his mouth, to the tip of his nose. “I’m very persuasive.”


	5. Chapter 5

IX.

Alfred _was_ very persuasive. Jim had some self-respect, he really did, and there was _Barbara_ , but somewhere along being kissed within an inch of his life and Alfred dragging his shirt open, Jim was on his knees on the floor, Alfred’s hand hot and heavy against the back of his neck. Jim mouthed over the bulge in Alfred’s tailored trousers, and felt a faint ping of triumph at the hungry, guttural snarl that produced, but fingers clamped warningly over his neck and he obligingly unbuttoned Alfred’s trousers.

Instead of the masculine musk Jim was expecting, Alfred smelled more like a large animal, all wildness and warmth, and God, he was _big_ , thick even for Jim’s long fingers and uncut; Jim pressed his tongue under the foreskin, curious, tasting him, and Alfred let out a low and strangled sound. 

“Better get on with it,” Alfred growled, again with that bestial thickened slur that sounded like it was distorted through heavy jaws, and Jim groaned as he pressed a palm against his own cock, straining between his legs. He sucked Alfred down, as far as he could go, rubbing his tongue over what he could get and getting his free hand on the rest, dry, but Alfred didn’t seem to care, his growl edging into a low, hungry rumble as his thighs pressed urgently against Jim’s shoulders. 

“Look at that,” Alfred slurred, and Jim muffled a whine against the flesh in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked. “Knew that mouth was good for something. So bloody pretty on your knees… Going to take more, pet? Could swallow it all down, choke yourself on it like the slut you are-” Jim scraped his teeth warningly against Alfred’s cock, irritated, but Alfred’s rumble merely deepened, his hand rubbing up Jim’s skull and back down. “Hrr. Yeah. Use your teeth, pet, that’s good.” 

God.

This was, by human standards, probably the worst blowjob Jim had ever given, but Alfred’s rumble edged into a low and continuous growl, his hips starting to jerk against Jim’s mouth, then Jim was choking on him, tears leaking from his eyes, struggling to take it, to relax, gagging and breathless at one particularly vicious thrust and that, somehow, shoved him right over the edge, his hips stuttering as he spilled in his trousers like a schoolboy. 

Alfred stilled, sniffing the air, then he let out a low, hoarse laugh, and pulled Jim off him, grinning fiercely, teeth unnaturally lengthened and sharp in the light from the kitchenette. He stroked himself off even as Jim stared at him, dazed and breathing hard, then Jim flinched as Alfred _marked_ him, a thick streak of come striping his cheek and jaw before Alfred caught the rest in his palm. 

Jim blinked, sucking in a tight breath, but then Alfred frowned and cocked his head, as though listening, then he smiled and wiped his hand on Jim’s shirt, before tucking himself in and getting to his feet. “Better get a move on,” Alfred said, in a low voice. “Think you’re about to have a visitor.” 

“What?” Jim croaked, his throat abused and hoarse, but Alfred had already headed over to the kitchenette table, and he stumbled over to the bathroom. He had rinsed out his mouth, and was scrubbing his face clean when the doorbell suddenly rang, startling him into flinching. 

Hastily, he ducked into the bedroom, pulling off his soiled clothes and changing into track pants and a shirt, then the doorbell rang again, more insistently. Jim stumbled out, but Alfred seemed to be nowhere to be found, and he got over to the door, peering out through the peephole. 

Barbara?

Jim looked sharply back into his living room, but it seemed empty, and so he unlatched the door, opening it. “Barbara? What are you doing here?” 

Barbara frowned unhappily at him as he let her pass, and she looked around his apartment, suspicious, her arms folded. She was dressed in a white and black blouse over slim-fitting jeans, impeccable even in the ungodly hour, and guilt slapped Jim quickly in the face. God. Only minutes ago, on that couch-

“A friend of mine came by. Told me… she told me to ask you, where you’ve been. The night before. And tonight.”

“Barbara, I-“

“Jim.” Barbara racked her hand through her hair. “When I talked to Harvey, the night before. Your partner. It didn’t sound like he was… well. I wasn’t too sure, you know? If it was a stakeout or something, why didn’t he go with you?” She frowned. “What happened to your voice?”

“Uh. Sore throat. And, well, I’m the rookie,” Jim said slowly. “Rookies get the shit jobs.”

Barbara stared at him, a little unhappily. “I can tell when you’re evading me, you know. I can-“

A scraping sound made her turn around, sharply, and to Jim’s utter shock, a _gigantic_ wolf padded out from behind his couch. It was easily nearly as tall as the backrest of his couch, from the shoulder, and would have towered over him had it stood on its hind legs. Its fur was thick, and jet black, though peppered with silver, and it was wearing a big brown leather collar with a golden tag. 

It had also thoroughly shredded Martha Wayne’s file, and its ears pricked as it dropped the remains of the folder, its huge jaws lolling open into a toothy grin, as it wagged…. its… tail… 

“Oh my God,” Barbara breathed.

“Barbara, get back-“

“It’s so _beautiful!_ ” Barbara rushed over, even as Jim belatedly remembered that Barbara had what was quite possibly a minor obsession with dogs, and went down on her knees, offering her hands for a sniff, then scratching behind the wolf’s ears. It snuffled her free hand, and let her look at the tag on its collar with a magnanimous air. “‘Alfred’. Well, you’re a gorgeous dog, Alfred. Hello. I’m Barbara.”

Alfred. _Alfred!?_ Jim stared at the wolf, open-mouthed, and it bared its teeth briefly at him over Barbara’s shoulder. Holy hell. A shapeshifter. Jim could only blink owlishly at Alfred, totally floored. Alfred could _change_ into a wolf?

“Is _this_ what you were hiding?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m, uh, a friend had to go out of town, I kind of had to dogsit, and uh, you know, this place doesn’t allow pets and-“

“You could have called me,” Barbara said reproachfully. “I could have put up Alfred at my place. It’s far bigger than your apartment.”

“Well, he’s kinda, really big, and he chews things, and sheds, and uh, I didn’t really want to, well. In case he chewed your stuff,” Jim said lamely. “You’ve had all those paintings shipped in from Milan, remember?” 

“Well of course you would chew things,” Barbara told Alfred. “If you had to be cooped up in here all day, you poor thing.” 

Alfred let out an agreeable whine, sitting down, and wagged his tail again as Barbara scratched his ruff, milking the sympathy for all it was worth. 

“Also,” Jim added dryly, “You’d probably get way too attached to him and refuse to give him back.” 

“True.” Barbara got reluctantly to her feet. “I’m sorry, Jim. I thought… well, I just wasn’t thinking right, I guess.”

“Totally understandable.”

“How long do you have to look after Alfred for?” Barbara asked hopefully. 

“Well, uh, I was just about to head out and give him back,” Jim tried not to glare at Alfred. “Since his _owner_ is back in town.” 

“I’ll go with you,” Barbara said brightly. “I’ll love to meet the owner. If he or she ever has to go away on holiday again, we could dogsit.” 

“No, that’s, uh, fine. I was going to go in to the precinct after. Get an early start. But I’ll, uh. Let the owner know, okay?” 

It took some effort to pry Barbara out of the apartment when a ‘dog’ was involved, but eventually, Jim managed the impossible, and when he shut the door, he leaned against it, breathing out a long, strangled breath. At the couch, Alfred grinned at him, lupine and toothy, and thumped his tail on the ground, then he padded back behind the couch.

Moments later, Alfred was straightening up, in human form, still smirking. “That the missus?”

“Yes, she is, and-“

“Nice lady.”

“ _Don’t_.”

Alfred snorted. “Relax, Detective. She doesn’t interest me.”

The reminder of what exactly about Jim had ‘interested’ Alfred made him flush again, with renewed guilt. “Where’d your clothes go? The collar? When you, ah, change back and forth?”

“Best not to think too hard on that one.” 

Jim rubbed a hand over his eyes. His heart was still going a mile a minute, and he was all too aware that he was starting to babble. “I didn’t peg you for the collar-wearing sort.”

“Human cities. They see a big wolf with no collar, they call the zoo. Fucking chaos everywhere, police and tranquilliser guns and news. But a wolf with a collar is just someone’s dog, eh? It was Martha’s idea. She thought it was fucking funny, too, but she had a point.”

“Well. Uh. Good save. But I really. Can’t do this again, all right? I can’t. Barbara deserves better from me.” 

“Sure,” Alfred drawled. “Whatever you say.”

“I mean it.”

“Could be that you do.” Alfred headed for the window. “But I would check on who her ‘friend’ is, if I were you. She was lying when she said it was a ‘friend’.”

“Barbara doesn’t lie to me,” Jim retorted hotly. 

“Keep telling yourself that, pet.”

X.

Jim was distracted through the investigation of a domestic gone violent, and after, when they were ducking out of the police line, Harvey growled, “Hey. You been out late again?”

“Uh. No. Why?”

“Just saying. You don’t look all quite there.” Harvey frowned at him. “Seriously. Don’t get involved with the Waynes, okay?”

Jim tried not to roll his eyes. “I _know_ , Harvey.”

“I mean, it’s bad enough that my partner’s going on the fritz,” Harvey muttered, “But I’ve got to deal with the Captain getting all hardball on the solve rates since the Mayor’s election term is coming up, and then Montoya coming back on our turf and-“

“Wait.” Jim blinked. “Montoya.”

“Yeah? Agent Montoya? That MCU bitch and her friend?”

 _Montoya_. The slim woman in a ski mask in the car. The woman in the bar, who had tried to take the Wayne case off Harvey. She had nearly done it too, if her partner hadn’t ticked Harvey off.

“Shit,” Jim breathed. “We _were_ never supposed to have gotten the Wayne case.” 

“What? What d’you mean?” 

“Shit,” Jim muttered again, walking briskly to the car, Harvey on his heels. 

“No, I’m going to drive,” Harvey said flatly, when Jim made as if to get into the driver’s seat. “ _You’re_ going to talk.” 

And Jim did, despite his misgivings. He talked. He talked about the meeting with the Carpathians, and the asylum plans. He talked about the semi-kidnapping with the Vassals. He talked about Alfred confronting him over Martha’s file - though he glossed over the juicy parts - and about Barbara’s sudden visit. And most of all, he talked about Montoya.

“Shit,” Harvey said, at the end, glaring at the road. “How the hell. You’re a god-damned _rookie_ cop. How the hell did you manage to get into so much trouble, so quickly? It’s got to be some sort of a record.”

“Thanks.”

“But a cure? Fucking hell. A cure.” Harvey slapped his hand against the steering. “That’s not just worth offing a couple of vamps over. It’s worth starting a _war_ over.”

Jim glanced at Harvey, startled. “I guess.”

“No, you don’t _fucking_ guess.” Harvey transferred his glare to Jim. “All right. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I didn’t stress the ‘monster’ part to you enough. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten the newbie to go talk to the monsters before he was thoroughly debriefed.” 

Jim sighed. “Harvey… wait. Where are we going? This isn’t the way back to the precinct.”

“Because there’s someone I want you to visit,” Harvey said grimly. “Maybe he’ll change your mind about giving the vampires a sympathy vote.”

“So… you want me to… work with the Vassals?” 

“To find a cure? Hell yes.”

“But you didn’t like Montoya.”

“That’s before I knew why she was being such a total bitch over the Wayne case. She’s still a bitch. But maybe over this, we can cut her some slack.” 

“So if it wasn’t the Vassals… it was Falcone? Why would he use a human shooter? What about what Fish said about the turf war?”

“Fish’s been wrong before. She’s human.”

“But say it was really a turf war,” Jim pressed. “Who’d you put your money on? Giovanni? Cesar?”

“Them? Naw. They’re close up with Falcone. I would’a put my money on Maroni. Sal Maroni. He’s also got a foothold in Gotham.”

“He wasn’t at the meeting.”

“Yeah. He should’ve been, if things had been smelling of roses.” 

Jim frowned to himself, thinking it over. “There’s still a killer out there. A human one. If we could track him down-“

“Hey, slow down there, big boy,” Harvey interjected. “Why’re we still talking about the Wayne case? That case’s closed, remember?”

“We never found the-“

“Who _cares_?” Harvey snapped. “Who cares if the monsters kill each other, huh? Look. There’s only one thing that’s important right now. Finding the _cure_.” 

“If it exists.”

“Oh, it does. If the Vassals have made their move, there’s got to be _something_.” 

“So how do you propose we do that, huh?” Jim challenged. “Break into WellZyn?”

Harvey grunted. “I s’pose we start off by making nice to Montoya, as much as that shits me. And then… I guess you’ve got to keep making nice to the Waynes. I’ll try to find another way into WellZyn. There’s got to be someone out there I can lean on.”

Jim grimaced. “… Fine. Though I still think-“

“Just sit on that thought for now, okay? Save it for later.”

Curious, Jim stayed silent, even as they drove into Gotham Hospital, parking in the basement parking and going around the ER block into palliative care. Harvey’s expression had grown grimmer and grimmer, and eventually, Jim could hold his questions in no longer. 

“Who are we going to see?”

“D’you know why you were assigned to me?”

“Because you had no partner?”

“Yeah. This is why I have no partner,” Harvey said, matter-of-factly. “My previous partner is here. Name’s Franco. Couple months back, we accidentally ran into one of the Maroni trafficking gigs. The long and short of it is, I got out, he didn’t.”

“… Sorry to hear that.”

Harvey didn’t even look at him. “That’s Rule One of Gotham, okay? _No heroes_.” 

Detective Franco was in a small, side ward, but at least he had his own room - apparently the unit director owed the Captain a favour, and corrupt as the GCPD was, at least it tried to look after its own. It was difficult to look through the glass at the shrunken, pale corpse-like thing under the blue hospital gown and sheets, hooked up to drips, and reconcile it with the photograph of the tough-looking, slightly portly Hispanic man in Harvey’s phone.

“I thought they weren’t allowed to hurt us.” Jim said quietly.

“Not overtly. But there’s ‘self defense’,” Harvey said bitterly. “And there’s always the ‘whoops, here’s a body dumped in an alley, no sir, it wasn’t us, do you have proof?’. I’m just saying,” Harvey added, looking away from the glass. “You’ve got to learn, son. Just because they dress nice and live in houses, just because they were once human? Doesn’t mean that they’re human anymore, all right? You’ve got to be playing for the right team, here.”

“Yeah, Harvey. I get it,” Jim said evenly. “But we should try to find the killer. If you want the cure, or access to WellZyn? What else do we have to trade, huh?” 

“Well,” Harvey decided, if gruffly. “I suppose there is that. Fine. Fish’s out. If we go poking around there now, we’ll probably end up killed for real this time. I’ve got other snouts in the city. We can hit them up, see what they know.” 

“Okay. Good.”

“And,” Harvey added, “You better make nice to Montoya.”

“ _Me_?”

“Yes, you. I don’t know what kinda interest Pennyworth has in you, but she’s probably the best bet you have of stopping it,” Harvey said bluntly. “If you’re not going to listen for your own sake, then you better listen for Barbara’s. They’re not above collecting collateral.” 

Jim remembered the way wolf-Alfred had nuzzled Barbara’s fingers, and shuddered. “I’ll ask Barbara to leave Gotham for a while. That might help.”

“Would she?”

“No,” Jim admitted. “But I can try. Talk up a trip, maybe. Get her to go look up other galleries. I don’t know.” Irresistibly, Jim’s eyes kept getting drawn back to the patient. “Is… Is Detective Franco going to get better?”

“Nope. And if he’d been any less fit than he had been when it happened, he wouldn’t be here right now, either.” Harvey let out a bitter, harsh laugh. “Sometimes I think that might’ve even been the kinder thing.” 

“Should we talk to the Captain? Or the Mayor, or-“

“Pennyworth said the Mayor’s gone over to the Carpathians, didn’t he? S’pose he’s right,” Harvey said thoughtfully. “That’ll put the Captain in a bad place, too. I think we keep it to ourselves for now. Do it all quiet like. All right?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“There’s no ‘I guess so’,” Harvey growled, jerking his thumb at the glass. “There’s us, and there’s them. Might want to keep that in mind, before you end up like Franco over in there. We clear?”

Jim nodded. “We’re clear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will be going on a short hiatus. :) PAX is on! Also, Nano is starting up too. Not sure when the next update will be. Will try. Thanks for reading so far!


	6. Chapter 6

XI.

The dream always started off the same, the way it had for as long as Jim remembered. He would be lying in a broken heap in an endless field of golden wheat, dead or near dying, though the pain was an old memory of an ache rather than anything worse. He could smell soil around him, and something coppery, blood and gore, and something sour, like death’s shroud, coming for him. Beside/Behind him, somewhere Jim could not see, someone he knew but whose name he couldn’t place screamed into the sky, not with grief but with rage, and something licked his fingertips-

Jim usually woke up from the dream sweating and cold all over, but today he just blinked awake and stared at the ceiling, startled. Rolling over in bed, he was nose-first into Barbara’s pillow before remembering that she was away, called on a sudden conference to some sort of curator’s gathering, over in New York. It had been a surprise invitation that had delighted Barbara no end - apparently getting it was a ‘gallery curator’s dream’, and she had rushed around packing and talking excitedly, bubbly with joy even when Jim had driven her to the airport. 

It had been a day since that, and three days since Jim had last encountered Alfred in his flat, and the dream had turned from being a once a month occurrence to something nightly. Burying his face in Barbara’s pillow, breathing in the flowery, feminine scent of her hair, Jim groaned to himself, clenching his hands on the sheets. Now that he was awake, there was no real way he was going to get back to sleep - that much he knew from experience.

Yawning, Jim crawled out of bed, washed up, and stumbled into Barbara’s expansive kitchen, nearly barking his hip on the marble kitchen counter as he made a beeline for the coffee machine. It was still far too early in the morning for life - the view from the penthouse apartment showed night’s dark blanket still over Gotham, lit up by the city lights. Never quite sleeping.

“I probably should get that for you,” Alfred said behind him, his tone dry and amused. “Before you hurt yourself.” 

Jim let out a yelp and whirled around so quickly that he made himself dizzy and stumbled. Alfred steadied him with a touch, his smile sharp, impeccable again in a three piece charcoal suit and a silver tie. “Steady on,” Alfred added, his grip gentle but inexorable as he led Jim to a chair. “Might be you want to sit down.”

Trying to resist was futile - it was like trying to pull out of some sort of industrial vise. “What are you doing here?” Jim hissed, as he was forced to sit down.

Alfred turned to his coffee machine, studying it for a moment before beginning to make coffee, with efficient, precise movements. “Visiting, obviously.”

“Why?”

Alfred flashed him a sharp grin over his shoulder. “Maybe I missed you.” When Jim frowned at him, Alfred added, “Young Master Wayne instructed me to check on you now and then to see that you were still ticking along. Seems he’s quite fond of you.”

“Well,” Jim said uncomfortably. “Thanks?”

Alfred said nothing until the coffee was done, then he set the cup down in front of Jim. “The Young Master would like you to come over for dinner. Tomorrow at eight.” When Jim tensed, Alfred bared his teeth into an unsettling smile. “Don’t worry. There’ll be human food. Master Wayne can process it.” 

“He doesn’t drink, uh, blood?”

“He does. As a whole, it’s more efficient. But he can eat.” Alfred shrugged. “‘Course, since _I_ don’t eat, it’ll be an interestin’ dinner, what with me not having any taste buds, so if your food’s oversalted or not salted at all, here’s me being sorry about it ahead of time.”

“ _You’re_ going to cook?”

“Can’t be too hard,” Alfred drawled. “Tell you what. I’ll just not salt it at all, and leave a bottle of the bloody thing on the table, how’s that.”

“I mean…” Jim struggled with the thought for a moment, then managed a wan smile. “You’re the housekeeper too?”

“Been that way for a while. Why? Did you think the manor goes all vampiric as well when the owners get bit? Someone’s got to dust the shelves and trim the bloody hedges, innit? And Martha Wayne was never really found of human servants.”

“Because they were only human?” 

Alfred rolled his eyes. “No, because they got old and died and she’d get all weepy about it. Happened a couple of times, then they gave up on it altogether. No human retainers. You make a human friend, it’s kinda like getting attached to an incoming tragedy.”

“… All right,” Jim said slowly. “Thanks for the invite.”

“And?”

“And I’ll be pleased to have dinner with Bruce at eight.”

Alfred sighed irritably. “Oh you would, would you? Well that’s a bloody shame.”

“So I suppose,” Jim said evenly, wondering if he was about to push his luck, “You might have to get in some grocery shopping before the sun rises.” 

Alfred narrowed his eyes dangerously, and Jim deliberately took a sip of his coffee, arching his eyebrows over the rim of the cup. “You think you’re safe,” Alfred said at last, “Just because the young master’s fond of you.” 

“I don’t know, Alfred,” Jim said mildly, “Do I?”

“I think you’re being real cheeky about it all,” Alfred drawled, “Seeing as you were on your knees sucking my cock just a few days back.”

Jim sucked in a slow breath, and managed not to squirm, even as his cock pressed itself against the fabric of his track pants just at the memory. He had tried not to jack off to _that_ at all, over the past few days, but it had been a near thing. An insidious thing. “Maybe you should go before the sun comes up.”

“Am I worried about the sun?” Alfred challenged, circling around the table, all predatory deliberation, and Jim straightened up sharply, setting the cup back down on the table, swallowing a gasp as Alfred slid a palm up from Jim’s knee, riding up the inner seam of his pants.

“Alfred,” Jim somehow managed to keep his voice steady. “I can’t do this. Barbara-“

“Asked her about her friend yet?” Alfred had circled around behind him, his lips pressed close to the back of Jim’s neck, and God, maybe it was because it was the dead of the morning, maybe it was the dream, but all Jim felt was the warm buzz of arousal rather than dread. 

“She said it was just a friend.”

“Didn’t get the name?”

“N-no.” Alfred nipped playfully at the back of Jim’s neck, and laughed, low and deep and rough, when Jim bit out a groan. 

“I’ve been checking in on a few of you humans,” Alfred drawled, and licked up from the collar of Jim’s loose shirt to his nape. “Your missus met that ‘friend’ of hers while you were at work. Didn’t look like they just used to be friends.” 

“So? I know I wasn’t Barbara’s first.”

“First man, maybe,” Alfred’s fingers had trailed up to splay teasingly over Jim’s tented arousal, nowhere near enough pressure. “Friend was a woman. Familiar one, too. One of the Vassals. Also one of the GCPD, as it so happens.”

Jim blinked. “ _Montoya_?”

“Hrr. Yes. I’ve known about her for a while. Local Vassals presence, that one. A pain in me arse, her and her family. Old Vassals family.” Alfred nipped him again, even as he squeezed Jim’s cock through the soft fabric with just enough force for it to ache, and this time, Jim bit down on his fist to stifle his moan. He felt frozen in Alfred’s grip, passive, able to do nothing but thrust his hips eagerly into Alfred’s palm, his body silently begging for more. God. Barbara. 

“Barbara… wouldn’t have known-“

“Sure, your golden bird didn’t know what Montoya was really up to. But she sure took her ‘friend’s’ accusation easily to heart, didn’t she?” Alfred nipped up to Jim’s ear. “Bet she asked you about the ‘dog’ again, tried to worm the owner’s name out of you. This time she didn’t sound too trusting. Then this sudden trip out of the city.” 

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that someone talked,” Alfred growled, against the shell of Jim’s ear, “Chirped away to her Vassal ‘friend’, without a thought in her head, thinking that she was defending your honour. ‘Course, once Montoya heard about the ‘dog’, she must’ve gone scared. Must have done the ‘friendly’ thing and persuaded your darling Barbara to take a hike. But not after they had a bit of fun ‘catching up’ on that couch over there.”

“You’re lying.”

“Me? Heh. They used freshener, but I can smell it clear as day.” Alfred rubbed the heel of his palm lazily down against Jim’s cock. “So I’m thinking,” he continued, his mouth drifting back down against the side of Jim’s neck, “Maybe your pretty golden bird isn’t as trustworthy as you think.”

Barbara’s chattiness. Her joy at the sudden trip. The over-explanations about the ‘curator’s conference’, something that Jim had never heard of before. Was it guilt, perhaps? Fear? Or something else?

“I don’t believe you,” Jim said harshly, but when Alfred swivelled the kitchen chair around to kiss him, he didn’t duck it, allowing Alfred to crush him close and thrust his cool tongue into Jim’s mouth, savagely confident, pulling Jim’s legs around Alfred’s hips before picking Jim up as though he weighed nothing, propping him up against the high kitchen bench. 

“I think we have unfinished business,” Alfred drawled, patting Jim’s ass with an irritatingly proprietary air. “You got a kit that might help?”

“Bathroom,” Jim grit out, and when Alfred arched an eyebrow, he added irritably, “Sometimes Barbara likes to top.”

“And that didn’t make you cotton on to anything?”

“I didn’t care,” Jim shot back evenly, and Alfred laughed again, this time in a low and hungry rumble. “We’re both adults. I was open to pretty much… why am I talking about this with you?”

“Oh love. We’re going to have so much fun, you and I.”

XII.

Alfred got impatient when Jim was done cleaning up in the shower, and Jim ended up shoved against the water-warmed shower tile and kissed roughly, _possessed_ , fingers scrabbling wet and desperate through Alfred’s hair, over naked muscle, their clothes folded neatly on the sink. Alfred looked totally human under his suit, and as Jim snuck another peek, still disbelieving, Alfred smirked at him.

“What? Expecting a tail? Paws, maybe?”

“Well no,” Jim muttered, lying through his teeth, and got kissed again for it, then pressed down onto his knees on the shower tiles. Alfred was no gentler with him this time round, not bothering to wait for Jim to adjust before thrusting his hips, forcing Jim to take more cock than he could easily handle, chuckling softly as Jim gagged and scratched at Alfred’s thighs and sucked. He was hungry for it; it felt like Jim had been maddened by Alfred’s own lust, touched by the wild beast that sat just under Alfred’s human-like skin: Jim moaned and let Alfred take his mouth and tried to use his tongue, relax his throat, his cock dripping onto the tiles as Alfred grunted and let out a low, liquid snarl. God. 

“God,” Jim repeated breathlessly, when Alfred curled fingers into his hair and tugged him off, studying him. Jim had to look a wreck, still on his knees with his hands on Alfred’s hips, his mouth reddened and spit slick, throat hoarse, cock painfully hard and dangling.

“Pretty boy,” Alfred pressed a thumb against Jim’s mouth, and laughed as Jim bit it pointedly. “Up on your feet then, turn around.”

“Here?”

“Here first. Bed for seconds,” Alfred promised, and Jim could but bite out a whimper as Alfred tugged him up on his feet and pressed him face-first against the tiles. “Where’s your lube?”

“There’s - ngh - some in the cabinet above the sink-“ Jim whined as Alfred nipped him, harder, against his shoulder, and then Alfred was stepping away, rummaging in the cabinet. The lube was cold against his skin, but it warmed up quickly enough as Alfred spread him, oddly gentle but clearly impatient, nudging Jim’s knees further open as he thrust in his fingers.

“Get fucked by your missus often, do you?” Alfred drawled, cheek pressed against Jim’s shoulder. Jim couldn’t see him smirk, but he knew it was there.

“N-no, I, aah- _fuck_ yes- no, I-“

“Yeah, I can believe that,” Alfred whispered, and the serrated tone was back in his voice, like grinding through great teeth, a pulse of lust roaring through Jim just at the sound. “You’re so tight, pulling in my fingers, like you can’t get enough. Feels like I can’t fit me cock in there.” 

“ _Alfred_ -“

“Just wait,” Alfred drawled, amused all over again, “You know what I’d like to do?” he added harshly, against Jim’s ear. “Push you down on your hands and knees. Fuck you in my wolf form. Oh yes,” he added, as Jim whimpered and squirmed against Alfred’s hand, clawing at the tiles, “Think you’d like that. I’m bigger in that skin. And when I’m done, we’ll be knotted tight. It’ll be like having a fist jammed up this sweet little hole.”

“Oh God,” Jim choked out, and his cock leaked a small spurt of come. Alfred let out an incredulous laugh, then he swiped out the mess with his free hand, shoving it into Jim’s mouth, waiting for Jim to suck before he pulled his fingers out of Jim’s ass and started to guide himself in.

Human skin or not, Alfred was still _big_ , and Jim tried not to arch up on the balls of his feet as Alfred pushed into him, far too much friction and not enough all at once. He choked sobs against Alfred’s fingers and tried to relax as Alfred kept pushing, inch by agonising inch, until Jim could feel Alfred’s balls pressed against him, until Alfred’s thighs were flush against his, fuck. 

“You’re so tight,” Alfred growled, then let out another hungry, barking laugh, settling both his hands on Jim’s hips. “Pretty boy like you, that’s a damned waste.” 

“Al-Alfred-“ Jim gulped, then a thought occurred through the thick haze of lust. “When… when you’re in this form, are you going to, uh, are you-“

“Knot up? Nah,” Alfred nipped his shoulder, clearly amused. “Disappointed?”

Jim grit his teeth, sucked in a slow, unsteady breath, then he shot back challengingly, “Maybe.” 

“Hah!” Alfred’s next nip was harder, nearly drawing blood, and Jim shivered. “Don’t worry. We can do this in either skin on the second go.” Alfred’s palm fisted up over Jim’s cock and tugged lazily. “Until your pretty pink hole is satisfied. Ruin you for other men.” 

“Fuck,” Jim whispered, and squirmed again. Alfred’s words. His _accent_. “Just… just-“

“Ready for me, are you?” Alfred rolled his hips experimentally, and chuckled when Jim merely groaned and shoved back against him. “Hands against the wall, love.” 

It was all Jim could do to stay braced as Alfred fucked him, with more force than Jim would have known from a human partner: the base of his spine ached, and God, the friction _burned_ but he was strung between pain and ecstasy, dragged down by the violence of it all, but the primal ferocity of Alfred’s lust. Alfred let out a low and rumbling growl through it all, punctuated only by the occasional gasp as Jim bucked back against him, peaking into a snarl when Jim finally clenched tight and spilled into the fingers curled around his cock.

To Jim’s astonishment, instead of finishing up, Alfred slowed instead, until he was still, pressed flush against Jim’s still shaking body, nuzzling his neck, lazily smearing Jim’s semen against his belly. “Aren’t you going to…” Jim choked out. “Aren’t you going to finish?”

“Why rush?” Alfred drawled, still buried deep and so _thick_. “I’m thinking I should carry you over to the bed. Make you ride me until you’re hard again. Then I’ll breed you on your hands and knees in my other skin until the sun comes up.” He nipped Jim’s jaw, tipping it up with his soiled fingers. “Knot you up then sleep it off with you tied to me like a bitch.”

“I… I’ve got to work,” Jim said breathlessly, though his cock twitched helplessly. God, to be tied to Alfred for hours, to the wolf form- 

There was definitely something wrong with him. “How are you doing this to me?” Jim whispered, even as he ground himself hungrily back against Alfred. “I’ve never… like this. Not with anyone.”

“Next time you have that dream of yours,” Alfred rumbled. “Might want to take a look at what’s licking your fingers.” 

“How did you know-“ Jim managed, before Alfred stuffed the wet fingers back into Jim’s mouth, laughing when Jim bit down reproachfully before he started to suck the fingers clean. He whimpered when Alfred pulled out, and the trip to the bed was a blur, all the way until he was seated on Alfred’s lap again, back arching as he was filled back up. “Please,” Jim gasped, “Fuck. Please.”

“You heard what I wanted the first time, pet,” Alfred patted his ass. “Now move.”


	7. Chapter 7

XIII.

“Good enough,” Montoya decided, when she and her partner Crispus Allen settled down in the booth opposite Harvey and Jim. They were in a dinky, greasy old diner, just off its lunchtime rush, now grown quiet, winding down into the late afternoon. “Should be safe to talk here. What did you want to talk about, then?”

Sitting down was just as uncomfortable as it had been all day, but Jim would be damned if he let it show. Instead, he stared pointedly at Allen, who chuckled, low and amused. “I’m one of the Vassals too, Detective,” Allen said dryly. “Not third generation, not like Renee here, but I’m up to speed.”

“Okay then.” Jim hesitated, for a moment, then he rubbed his palms up over his face, the heels digging over his cheeks. “I’ve just… Montoya, you’re being watched. Possibly Harvey here too. Maybe even Allen. That’s what I’ve been told.”

“Well fuck,” Harvey muttered, but there was no explosion from across the table, and Jim glanced up warily, just in time to see Montoya shrug.

“And so?”

“Just thought you might want to be careful?” Jim offered.

“My family’s been part of the Vassals for over a century, Gordon. We know the drill.” 

“Well, _I_ don’t,” Harvey said plaintively. “ _Jesus_ , Jim! Bad enough that we’ve been caught up in this cross-faction shitstorm, we’re being spied on too?”

“You’re the one who was all interested in the cure,” Jim was careful to lower his voice. “All right. Cards on the table. I’m going to be talking to Bruce Wayne again tonight. But before I help you guys ask any questions,” he added sharply, when Montoya opened her mouth, “I want some answers.”

Montoya and Allen exchanged glances, then Montoya shrugged again. “Sure.”

“First,” Jim almost asked about Barbara, but swallowed the question down, that and the confusion and the jealousy, “What is it about me that interests Alfred?” 

Montoya narrowed her eyes, even as Allen sat back in the greasy bench with a sigh. “… Fine,” Montoya muttered, her eyes darting from the table to the countertop and back, as though nervously. “All right. So. As long as you remember, you’ve had this dream, right? Bad dream. You’re lying in a wheat field.”

Jim stiffened and clasped his fingers together tightly. “Does _everyone_ know about that?”

“Not me,” Harvey piped in, though he was frowning now. “What the hell?”

“In the dream, you’re dying,” Montoya continued grimly. “Someone’s screaming into the sky, in some language you can’t make out. And there’s something else, licking your fingers.”

“Jim,” Harvey said slowly, “You have one hell of a weird fucking dream life.”

Jim ignored him. “Correct so far.” 

“This is…” Montoya began, sighed again, then ducked her head. “Okay. Roughly speaking. What was the original sin, Gordon?”

“Uh… from the Bible?” Jim hazarded. “Eating the apple of knowledge, right?”

“No, no,” Montoya said impatiently. “The first _true_ sin, committed when mankind already had the _knowledge_ of good and evil. Cain murdered Abel.”

“… And?”

Another sigh. “Okay. Maybe we should take this from the top. As records go. God made Adam and Eve. There was a third - Lilith. She went her own way.”

“And she’s usually not part of the Book as you know it,” Allen added. 

“Her children were monsters,” Montoya continued. “For the most part. Those which survived, they’re what we now know as vampires. Once, their types were legion. But the Carpathians waged a war against them, one that the Vassals stepped away from - let the monsters kill each other, yeah? Most of the other vampires were hunted to extinction. That’s when the Carpathians started to consolidate power. So. In short, that’s where we are now. Most of Lilith’s blood are dead, except for the Carpathians and a handful of the others.”

“Okay…” Jim said slowly. “So… Alfred is… one of the other sort? As was Martha and Thomas?”

“No,” Montoya said, with a trace of impatience. “Thomas was a Carpathian. Martha was a variant of a Carpathian - a new species, the American Vampire. Alfred isn’t one of Lilith’s children at all.” 

“The thing licking your fingers,” Allen said quietly. “Abel’s dog, drinking the dregs of the first true sin. Animals that became infected by evil, that eventually learned to take on different skins. They have vampiric traits, many of them. But that bloodline is not originally human, and the humans infected by it - like Pennyworth - are obvious enough.” 

Jim tried not to think of how feral Alfred was even at the best of times, and swallowed hard. “So, uh. That’s why Alfred’s interested in, uh.” He can’t say it.

“He can’t help it. It’s in his blood.” Montoya said shortly. “You could probably, with familiarity, get him to trust you. Maybe even obey you.”

Jim let out a sharp laugh. “Kinda doubt that.” 

“Try,” Montoya urged him. “You have to. Without Alfred, Bruce will be unprotected.” 

“That’s the second thing,” Jim continued. “I’ll help you find a cure, fine. If it exists. But I won’t help you kill a kid.”

“That kid’s a monster,” Harvey shot back. 

“He’s a kid,” Jim said firmly, flatly. “I’m not helping you kill a _kid_.”

“…Disappointing, but not unexpected,” Allen said, his tone conciliatory. “It’s an ancillary problem right now, anyway. What we want out of Gotham is the cure.” 

“Where’s the old man?” Harvey asked. “Your boss?”

“Taking care of matters back in the base,” Montoya said smoothly. “He didn’t need to be here. Anything else, Gordon?”

 _Stay away from my girlfriend_ , Jim thought, but grit his teeth instead. “Nope. Your turn.”

“WellZyn’s cleaning house. Try and get Bruce to put a stop to that. Tell him… tell him you heard from a source that it’s been conducting illicit experiments. Something like that. He needs to put a stay on that company before we lose all the results, if we haven’t already.” Montoya said briskly. “Try to get Bruce to hand over the records.”

“Alfred knew that Martha was a Vassal.” Jim said doubtfully. “Maybe he knows about the cure.”

“Don’t take that chance,” Allen said sharply. “We can’t risk him reacting badly.”

“I know that,” Jim contended. “I won’t ask him outright about it. I just want to know how _much_ he knew about Martha’s… ongoing alliance with you guys.”

“Could be useful,” Harvey agreed, to Jim’s surprise. “We’ll look like idiots if it turns out that the butler was gonna be helpful all this while.”

“If you can be subtle, sure.” Montoya’s tone made it amply clear that she wasn’t certain about this. 

“I’ll do my best,” Jim said dryly. “So. About the Wayne murders.”

“Killings,” Allen corrected. “The Waynes were murdered years upon years ago.”

“Don’t you think it’s important to figure out who did it?” Jim continued, deciding not to press the point. When Montoya seemed set to argue, Jim added, “Look. Martha tells you guys - I presume in secret - that she’s possibly cracked vampirism. Then she winds up dead. I kinda doubt she spread that information around. So there might be a mole on your end.”

“Or, more likely,” Montoya said, bristling, “There was a leak in Wellzyn.”

“Either way, if we go sniffing after the cure, the leak in Wellzyn or the mole on your end will get wind of it, yeah?” 

“Fine,” Montoya said reluctantly. “We’ll look into it.”

“Our money’s still on the Carpathians,” Allen added. “Which is why the Vassals were originally going to opt to stay out of it.”

“I’m still calling in favours,” Harvey said. “Buncha staff were let go from Wellzyn a week back. Going to see if we can get close to any of them.” 

“All right,” Montoya decided. “Good luck.” 

Jim lingered, waiting until Harvey had left the diner, catching Montoya’s eye. Allen glanced at them both, then shrugged and followed Harvey out, even as Montoya hesitated and settled back onto the bench. 

“Is this about Barbara?” Montoya asked flatly.

“And here I was,” Jim said neutrally, “Thinking that I was going to have to draw some sort of confession out of you.” 

“She…” Montoya took in a deep breath. “Right. Barbara and I used to be a thing. We broke up. She does care for you. But. Gotham is _not_ safe for her right now. Not with Pennyworth on your scent. All right?”

“And so, somewhere in between giving her a friendly warning, you guys, what, fell into bed by accident?”

Montoya blinked at him, then her lip curled. “Pennyworth found out? That should tell you about the danger that Barbara’s in.”

“It also tells me,” Jim said evenly, “That you can’t really be trusted, not while this is all personal to you.” 

“My personal business and my Vassal business is separate.” 

“Really?” Jim growled. “Because if it was, and you _knew_ the vampires were keeping an eye on you, maybe you shouldn’t even have _talked to Barbara at all_.” 

Montoya flinched, but she didn’t avert her stare. “Barbara’s out of the city now. She’s fine. And all right. I admit it. I don’t like you. But I know that humanity needs whatever Martha Wayne’s discovered. And I also know that it’ll be too dangerous for you to ever talk to Barbara again, as long as Pennyworth still exists. So. I can stay away from Barbara if you want me to. But you should, as well.”

“You’ve got a really endearing way of making allies,” Jim retorted, and shoved up and away from the diner table as he noticed Harvey walk back in and shoot them a curious stare. “We’re done here.” 

“Hate me all you like,” Montoya said evenly. “But like I said, for me? Vassal business isn’t personal.”

XIV.

Jim’s limp hadn’t subsided by dinner, and Alfred’s gaze flickered to his hips and back up with a possessive, satisfied gleam when Jim got out of the car and headed up towards the manor.

“Lots of awkward questions at work,” Jim said, a little reproachfully, as Alfred stepped back to let him enter.

“I _asked_ you what you wanted to do on the second go,” Alfred’s voice was very nearly a purr, as his hands slid up Jim’s shoulders for a moment before briskly helping him with his coat. “I’m surprised that you can still walk, me.”

“Maybe you didn’t try hard enough,” Jim noted before he could help himself, and caught the flash of hunger as it twisted Alfred’s face before it smoothed away into a mild politeness. Jim glanced up, met Bruce’s eyes as the boy stepped into the foyer on light feet.

“Detective Gordon,” Bruce greeted him, even as Alfred disappeared discreetly into the cloakroom with his coat. “Thank you for coming for dinner.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” Jim said, following Bruce towards the dining room, trying not to limp. A table setting had already be placed out, silverware and a place mat and even a vase of flowers, though the flower arrangement looked more as though a bunch of flowers had been forcibly jammed into the crystal vase than any true attempt at art. 

“How goes your work?” Bruce asked, as they settled down at the dining table.

“The usual,” Jim said. “Domestics and an armed robbery gone wrong. Nothing really scintillating.”

“Alfred said that the Vassals approached you.” 

Jim studied Bruce’s face, but he couldn’t get a hint of anything other than curiosity. “Yeah, you could say that. As in, they strong-armed me into a car and pulled a gun on me until they were done talking, sure.”

Bruce grimaced. “How… charming.”

“They kinda really hate you, by the way,” Jim added. “I told them you were still a kid, but they’re really weirded out by the new vampire thing.”

“I know. That’s originally why I thought that they were behind the assassination of my parents.” 

“And now?”

“The pieces don’t match up.” Bruce studied his hands, for a long moment. “Alfred told me that there was a… a file. On my mother. The Vassals gave it to you.”

“Did he also tell you that he already knew about everything that was in there?”

There was a brief flash of temper in Bruce’s eyes, then a tight nod. “We had a… word.” 

“Well uh,” Jim said, a little helplessly. “How do you feel about that?”

“I suppose it explains many things,” Bruce said instantly, as though he had been expecting Jim’s question all afternoon. “My parents’ preoccupation with helping the humans. The way they almost always sided with human affairs. Their philanthropy and the thrust of their business.” 

“I mean,” Jim said, trying to keep his voice gentle, “What do you feel about helping the ‘humans’?”

To Bruce’s credit, the boy looked away quickly, embarrassed. “Ah. Well-“

Alfred swept in, at that point, with a tray of bowls of soup and bread: pumpkin soup, as far as Jim could tell, and the bread smelled fresh, but Alfred’s shark-like grin as he set down a bottle of salt next to Jim did not inspire confidence. The soup, however, was pretty decent, and Jim found that he was hungry after all, even working the bread through the bowl when he was done. Bruce ate more sedately, as though more for show than anything else.

“So,” Bruce added, when the soup was cleared. “I guess I… I do want to keep doing what my parents were doing,” he added, in a mumble. “Though I wonder why they kept me from it.”

“Ah, well,” Jim said uncomfortably. “Loose lips sink ships. If it got out that your parents were involved with, uh, with the Vassals-“

“Yes.” Bruce cut in softly. “I think that must have been it. Somehow, the Carpathians must have learned of this.” 

“Probably. I’m keeping an ear out.” 

The rest of dinner passed with nothing else but small talk, and it was actually edible, even if the roast was a touch too bland and dessert was too sweet - a cake: obviously purchased, and Jim felt mildly relieved when ushered with Bruce towards the drawing room. Bruce stood before the fireplace, hands crossed behind his back, even as Jim settled self-consciously into an armchair, and tried to think of a way to excuse himself. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Bruce said finally. “I don’t even know what to think of all this.”

“Well,” Jim tried not to stare too hard into the shadows. “What does Alfred say?”

“Said it wasn’t his place to tell me what to do.” 

“Ah.” Jim sucked in a soft breath. “Well. I’m probably biased. But I’d like you to keep doing what your parents were doing.”

“Help out the Vassals?”

“You mean, the people whose idea of a friendly chat is to kidnap someone at gunpoint?” Jim asked dryly, and there was a brief, harsh exhalation from Bruce. “Help out the people. God knows Gotham needs it. I mean. What else are you going to do? What do you _want_ to do?”

“I want to know who killed my parents,” Bruce said flatly.

“I’m trying to find out,” Jim countered. “But I need the city stable. I need to work out why it happened. Whether there’s a leak on the Vassal’s side or… wherever else.”

“Wherever else?” Bruce echoed, turning around, his face still expressionless.

“It’d be nice to know who else knew that your parents had Vassal friends,” Jim returned evenly.

“It… Not Alfred. It won’t be Alfred.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

“I’ll think on this,” Bruce frowned to himself. “Thank you for visiting, Detective.”

“Uh. Thanks for the invite.” Jim said, relieved rather than annoyed at the brusqueness of the dismissal. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“All right,” Bruce said distractedly.

“And just for reference,” Jim added, “Maybe you want to put a lid on anything that might have changed in Wayne Enterprises since your parents’ death. Like any subsidiary companies that just suddenly started folding up, or suddenly getting into gear. Could be the leak’s in there.” 

Bruce chewed on his lower lip. “I’ll go through the records. Thank you again. Good night.”

Jim backed out of the room, and made his way quickly to the foyer, hoping to get in and out of the cloakroom before Alfred showed up. It was a futile hope - he had just about picked his coat off the hangar in the cloakroom when Alfred drawled, behind him, “Going so soon?”

“Your ‘young master’ just ran me through the ‘good night and thank you’s’,” Jim pointed out evenly, forcing himself to turn around. Alfred was standing at the doorway to the cloakroom, his broad shoulders neatly barring it, and his arms were folded, his smile sharp. “So you told him about the file.”

“He was bound to find out about it sooner or later, now that the Vassals leaked it to you.”

“I take it he wasn’t pleased.”

“It wasn’t my secret to share, had my hand not been forced.”

“Did you…” Jim hesitated. “Did you approve? Of what they did? Allying with the Vassals?”

“Wasn’t my place to approve or disapprove,” Alfred said, his tone flat. “It was all the same to me. I knew them since before they were turned - either of them. And after. Could say I wasn’t surprised by how it turned out.”

“‘It’?”

Alfred made an impatient, chopping gesture. “It. Their continued involvement in a private militia hell bent on killing anyone of the Blood. Their eventual demise. All. Of ‘it’. Let me guess. The Vassals weren’t too cut up that they were both gone.”

“They didn’t exactly strike me as very sentimental as a whole.”

“They weren’t too overjoyed by the young master still kicking around either, eh?”

“Like you said,” Jim said warily, “They’re not really fans of you guys, to say the least.”

Alfred bared his teeth, a lupine smile that promised violence, feral and wild, and a shiver lit up Jim’s spine, made him swallow hard. “Just so you know. They’re none too fond of your type, either.”

“My type?” Jim scowled, suddenly tired of it all, of the dreams, of Alfred’s cryptic proclamations, _everything_. “Being of Abel’s blood?”

“Yeah.” Alfred strode closer, and closer yet, until he had Jim pressed against the wall of the cloakroom, his mouth tracing a ticklish line down Jim’s jaw until his lips were buried in Jim’s neck, breathing in. Breathing deeply. “Y’see. You’re none too human, you are.”

“I don’t…” Jim cleared his throat, when his voice came out pitchy. “I don’t drink blood.”

Alfred let out a low, rumbling sound, more of a growl than a laugh. “There’s other things that mark you out from the herd. So you might want to watch your ‘friends’.” He nipped Jim lightly over his pulse, lips pressing into a grin over Jim’s flesh when Jim bit out a badly stifled moan, then Alfred was backing away with a mocking, feral smile. “Don’t be a stranger, Detective.”


	8. Chapter 8

XV

To Montoya's unabashed surprise, the first lead to bear fruit was Harvey's, of all people. Harvey was pointedly smug about it too. "Told ya," he said again, as they sat down at another nondescript diner. "Nothing like a bit of old-fashioned police work."

Allen smiled politely, but Montoya merely sniffed. "So. You're sure that your contact can get us into WellZyn?"

"Not the lab floor, but the server floor," Harvey said. "You guys got a code monkey? We can pull your files, be in and out like a dream. We'll be signed in as tech audit staff."

"I'm competent on that front," Allen volunteered. "Good work," he added, with no apparent reluctance.

Montoya glanced at Allen, then at Jim. "If we're being watched by the enemy," she said quietly, "We'll be found out for certain."

"Not if I'm at Wayne Manor," Jim retorted, "And they're not the ene-"

"Good point," Harvey interjected quickly. "Jimmy here stays in the manor, gives us however long Allen here needs. We can drop any other tail out there, nip in and out."

"How long do you need?" Jim asked.

"Depends on the system. Keep your phone with you. I'll text."

That didn't sound comforting at all, but Jim nodded slowly. "Fine. When?"

"Nothing like the present," Harvey said breezily. "Try to get yourself an invite to the Manor that runs on into tomorrow morning, maybe."

"And be careful," Montoya said, though she looked pinched as she said it. "Pennyworth's dangerous. And he's very, very good at smelling out a lie, according to our files. It's a tonal thing, apparently."

Jim remembered Bruce's comment about Alfred's ears, and nodded. "All right. I'll uh. Give the manor a call."

"Not here. Later. Contact us when you get it." Montoya rose to her feet. "Good luck."

"Good luck," Jim echoed. 

Keeping focused on mundane police work was difficult after, and the day slogged on seemingly indeterminately. Harvey was twitchy as hell, and increasingly short tempered. Jim was glad when the day was over, even though it meant-

"Hey," Harvey said quietly, when Jim was tidying up for the day. "Look. You don't have to do this. We could still-"

"Safer this way." Jim cut in firmly, and watched grimly as the relief that Harvey couldn't quite hide slunk over his grizzled face.

"Sorry," Harvey said gruffly anyway. "You're a rookie. You were never meant to be involved. Not yet."

"Yeah," Jim said, and managed a shrug. "Just get what you're looking for. I hope it's all worth it."

Harvey patted him on the shoulder, and Jim left the station, trying not to drag his heels. It wasn't that he wasn't willing. It was just... He was a little _afraid_. Not of Alfred, but of getting   _addicted_. Of it being already too late. The pull he felt towards Alfred seemed nothing truly natural to Jim, and that was frightening.

Jim called Alfred once he was in the car, and Alfred picked up almost immediately, his tone amused. "Detective."

"I, uh." Jim cleared his throat. "Could we talk?"

"Worried about something?" Alfred's playfulness dropped out of his voice.

"No, I, um. Was just." Jim took in a deep breath. "This uh. The dream I have. Can I talk to you about it?"

"Sure," Alfred sounded amused again. "What d'you want to know?"

"Face to face. I can come to the manor. If that's okay. After dinner."

"Aww. My cooking the other night wasn't so bad, was it?" Alfred asked, and laughed when Jim sputtered. "Very well, Detective. Come on over, whenever you like."

 _Even obey you_ , Montoya had said. Jim shivered, as he hung up, and pressed his forehead briefly against the steering wheel. Then he flicked open his phone again, and called Harvey.

XVI

Bruce greeted Jim with a polite nod and a vague mention about how he hoped Alfred would be able to answer Jim's questions, then waved them away. The boy was seated on a couch, the low, long tea table before it buried with paperwork, and Jim shot Alfred a curious glance when he was pointedly ushered out of the room.

"Your doing," Alfred said succinctly.

"Mine?"

"You said something or other about how the young master should look into the Wayne Enterprises subsidiaries for a lead. The idea's well and truly taken hold." Alfred rolled his eyes. "The young master's even expressed a wish to speak to the Wayne Enterprises board members."

"I didn't think it'd go that far," Jim protested.

"Yeah, you didn't," Alfred said dryly, "An eleven year old kid with no parents and nowt for company but an old dog. Sure. He absolutely wasn't going to take what you said to heart."

"I don't think I was wrong to suggest it. Bruce is a smart kid. If it had been a dumb idea he would've known. Besides," Jim added. "He'll be safe. You're here."

Alfred didn't answer. Instead, Jim found himself shown out of the current wing of the house towards the back, the furnishings on the corridors growing progressively less ornate, until he was through into a utilitarian, narrow corridor that seemed out of place with the lavishness of the manor Jim had seen to date.

"Servant's wing," Alfred said, with a shark-like grin, and at Jim's blink, he laughed. "What, where else did you think I stayed?"

"But you're the... a... The Waynes were your friends-"

"Not at first."

"What do you mean?" Jim asked, frowning as he was pushed past the entrance of what looked in passing like a size able kitchen, clean but not in use. 

"I said I met Martha Wayne when she shot me with a rifle, didn't I?" Alfred pointed out. "What, did you think that was done in some spirit of love and goodwill?"

"But she didn't kill you."

"Oh," Alfred let out one of his harsh, barking laughs, but his tone was fond. "She tried her bloody best. Can't discount the old master too. He got me good with a scalpel. Wasn't silver, though. Here we are," Alfred added. "Me room."

It was a small box of a room, plain, low ceilinged, a monument to older, class-conscious times. Jim glanced at the cot of a bed, at the small desk, then to the sturdy wardrobe with disbelief. "Really?"

"I don't need much by the way of things," Alfred shrugged. "'Sides, all I need a room for is to sleep."

Jim blinked again, then he swallowed his next question, asking instead, "So. Uh. You and the Waynes. What happened?"

Alfred waved him to the chair, while he sat on the edge of the bed. "They realized I wasn't one of Lilith's get, and brought me in. Silver chains and all, a right proper trophy.  Promotions all round." Alfred smiled his sharp, merciless smile. "I was a guest of the Vassals for a decade."

"Just the two of them?"

"Nah. Vassals work exterminations in teams. The Waynes were the only survivors. Bad luck," Alfred shrugged. "I was minding me own business too. Wasn't even hunting humans, just the occasional hunter that got into me territory to faff about blasting away at the wildlife. But the forest got a reputation for being haunted, and then the Vassals rolled into town."

"How did you get infected?"

"I was a soldier. King and country and all that, red uniforms, glorious New World," Alfred drawled. "Went hunting in a patch of woods that the local natives avoided like the plague. Found out why soon enough."

New World. Alfred was _that_ old? "You got bitten?"

"That wasn't the problem. The problem was me killing the other guy," Alfred shrugged. "Blood of the First Sin passes on death. I woke up in another skin. Wasn't fun. Not at first. After I got over all the panic and things, I stayed on. Took over the territory. Stayed in there while the world kept changing."

"You killed a... vampire? By yourself?"

"Took some doing." Alfred said modestly. "Nah. That poor bugger had been a wolf for so long there was only a wolf brain left to him. And a big dumb animal isn't all that hard."

Jim rather doubted that was all to it, but he nodded. "So you were imprisoned by the Vassals."

"Was their bloody lab rat," Alfred corrected, if calmly. "The Vassals love figuring out how vampires tick. And they'd never had a specimen that wasn't one of the Children before. Had a lot of fun with their shiny new silver knives, cast just for me."

Jim shuddered. "How did you escape?"

"I didn't." Alfred said, and his mouth ticked up into a faint grin. "The old master got turned. Then the missus, after. They decided to strike out on their own when things got tense. Swore me in and took me along."

"They were willing to trust you?"

"Nah," Alfred grinned sharply. "They planted a nasty little bit of insurance in me first. Did the same thing to another guy, some big shot American vampire. They were growing a wee bit desperate. Carpathians were growing into the main problem. Guess the rest of us didn't rate much of a damn by then."

"You've been pretty uh, forgiving then."

Alfred shrugged. "Sure, they put me in lock up. But they got me out again. Martha hadn't been feeling right about it. I wasn't a basket case, not like the other 'guests'. They felt bad, I think. Got me out when they could."

"Not bad enough, if they implanted something."

"They were feeling guilty, but they weren't stupid. I would've killed them at the start, if I could've gotten away with it. Over time, things worked out the way they did." Alfred glowered at his hands. "When I find out who did them in, I swear..."

"Is that uh. Insurance thing. Still-"

"Nah." Alfred grinned. "The old master took it out himself, sometime back. Sorry to disappoint."

"I didn't say I was disappointed," Jim pointed out, and Alfred smirked.  

"Not even a little?"

"No," Jim said, and shifted a little uncomfortably under Alfred's level stare. He could feel himself growing warm, blushing, even, and eventually, Alfred let out a low laugh. 

"Is _this_ what you really wanted to 'talk' about?"

"Uh well-" Jim cleared his throat. "If - if you're in the mood to-"

"Try me," Alfred grinned, baring his teeth, and a savage flash of hunger settled over his face as Jim pushed himself to his feet.

XVII

Jim woke to a fierce ache between his thighs and a dull sensation of _fullness_ that confused him, up until his brain woke up a little further and he tried to roll over. He was so warm that he was sweating, and his back was pressed against some sort of furry wall that smelled like a big, clean animal - _Alfred_.

They weren't... tied... any longer, but Alfred had clearly dozed off around when Jim had, _inside_ him, Gods, while in his 'second' skin, and this was probably the filthiest thing that Jim had ever done. He swallowed an instinctive moan and tried to pull away, but Alfred snorted suddenly, all warm animal breath against Jim's ear, and then he snuffled at Jim's hair.

"Get off," Jim protested, trying to squirm away, then he yelped as Alfred let out a harsh, barking laugh, growing - Gods above - _hard_ inside him. Alfred rolled, forcing Jim face down on the soiled sheets, thick fur blanketing him as large paws planted themselves to either side of Jim's shoulders, then Alfred rolled his hips experimentally.

It hurt, damn it all, but there was pleasure too, enough for Jim to gasp out a curse, and Alfred growled, low and rumbling as he nipped pointedly at the back of Jim's neck, his growl deepening when Jim whined and pushed his hips back to meet him. Inviting him. 

"So wrong," Jim panted, as Alfred licked a wet stripe over his shoulders and started to thrust, slow at first until Jim got himself up on shaky, splayed palms and knees. Then it promptly turned brutal, Jim's whimpers bleeding into hoarse squeals and cries as Alfred braced himself and _bred_ him, pounding into him with a merciless rhythm that cared little for comfort, that jerked him up against the bed at each bone-deep thrust until Jim was begging, first for _Jesus-harder-more_ then later, much later, a wail of _enough, finish it, fuck, please_ that got a snarl out of Alfred but no mercy. 

Not until Jim could feel the knot swelling up, stretching him, a thick mass inside his abused hole that he tried instinctively to twist away from, sobbing when Alfred closed his jaws lightly but firmly over his neck in warning. At the first touch of teeth, Jim let out a garbled, broken moan of surprise and came, his orgasm ripped out of him as ruthlessly as he was being taken. Alfred tensed up, as though surprised, then the pressure eased off on his neck, and a big paw pressed over Jim's shoulders, encouraging him to press his cheek to the pillow, his ass still up in the air and stuffed full. 

Then Alfred let out another rumbling growl, and _this_ time the thrusts were angled so deep, so _hard_ , that Jim knew he would be bruised for sure, sore and raw for days at the least, and he could do nothing but hold on and beg and take it. "Alfred-please-Christ I _can't_ ," Jim keened, a gasping wounded moan that only seemed to spur Alfred on, until Jim was barely conscious, limp and dazed and barely making a sound when Alfred finally snarled and shoved in as far as he could go, his knot swelling up all the way into tender flesh, Alfred moving his hips in minute rolling thrusts as he rubbed the seed he was pumping into Jim all over Jim's sore walls.

Jim must have blacked out at that point. When he woke again, he was alone, his cheek pressed into the pillows, the sheets rucked up over his hips. Alfred wasn't anywhere to be seen, and Jim checked his phone blearily. Mid morning. No word yet from Harvey. 

He tried to move, and grimaced as pain shot up from the small of his back. Alfred made a reappearance when Jim managed to roll onto his side, already perfectly put together, suit and all, and he grinned sharply as Jim scowled at him.

"I've taken the liberty of calling in sick on your behalf," Alfred drawled, raking Jim with a blatantly possessive once-over. "Seems your partner had a rough night too, and isn't at work either."

"Doubt it was as rough as my night," Jim said, as Alfred helped him sit up gingerly, pressing a glass of water into Jim's hand. He drank thirstily, all in one gulp, and Alfred set the glass on the desk. 

"Oh, I wouldn't write off Detective Bullock quite so easily," Alfred said, amused, though he pulled the sheets off Jim's thighs, looking him all over again, drinking him in.

"Don't speculate please," Jim muttered. "Christ. I feel like I've been run over. Several times."

"Your pink little hole's all stretched out and bruised," Alfred purred, fingers dipping between Jim's legs to press his thumb against Jim's hole, ignoring Jim's yelp. "Might be able to take fingers maybe, but nothing more for now." 

" _Alfred_."

"Don't panic," Alfred smirked, though he did drop his hand. "I've drawn a bath. It'll make you feel better."

The bath did make him feel better, even if Alfred insisted on being present, sitting on the wall bench in a surprisingly large guest room bathroom, accessed through a discreet servant's entrance. "Got breakfast for you as well," Alfred added. "Or lunch, I suppose it will be." 

"Thanks."

"Bit of a thank _you_ , really," Alfred said, his tone lazily appreciative, and he laughed as Jim blushed.

"I really was going to ask you about the dream," Jim muttered. "How'd you know about it?"

"I get the same one now and then," Alfred drawled. "Just that I'm the dog, licking Abel's fingers." He sobered. "And all I feel is terror. Rage. I jump at Cain, but he's got God's mark on him. God's punishment, technically, but what's a dumb dog to know? I'm struck down by something I can't see. Cain flees." Alfred narrowed his eyes. "I vow a blood debt to all of the blood of Cain. Then I wake up." He shrugged. "Gives me a bad turn. But hell, I don't get the dream often. Not usually."

"Not until you find someone of Abel's blood?" Jim asked softly.

"Yeah." Alfred shrugged again. "But I don't mind. You're easy on the eyes and a bloody good lay." He smirked. "'Sides, it'll ease up soon."

"How do you know? Or have you met uh. Other people. Like me."

"Here and there."

"You said I..." Jim hesitated. "You said I wasn't human. That the Vassals might be trouble."

"Didn't say that." Alfred corrected. "The Vassals aren't fond of your kind. Not anyone with a bit of something else about them, whether it's Abel's blood or anything else. But they won't try to kill you. You're not their problem."

"But...?"

"But they won't be so quick to defend you if trouble comes," Alfred added, "And they'll be far more willing to use you if they can."

"I'm _human_ ," Jim persisted. "No funny tricks, no shapeshifting-"

"Look, son," Alfred said wearily, "Seems there were three sons of Adam and Eve at the start, yeah? Cain kills Abel, but not before Abel made his missus pregnant. Still, most of what you'd call run-of-the-mill humans are from the blood of the third kid, Seth. Sure, the bloodlines are all pretty mixed up now, but sometimes, rarely, there'll be someone like you. Abel's blood runs strongly enough in you for people like _me_ to notice. Believe me," Alfred bared his teeth, "The Vassals are not your friends."

"Could say that," Jim muttered, and at Alfred's arched eyebrow, had to add, "You were right. About Barbara."

"See," Alfred began, then he frowned as something in his pocket started beeping. "Be back in a sec. Something's tripped the perimeter alarm."

"Problem?" 

"Nah. Probably sightseers or the bloody press. Get dressed and head to the garden terrace, I'll bring out your lunch." Alfred got to his feet, and left the room briskly.

Jim checked his phone. Still nothing. He sighed, soaked a while longer, then pulled himself out, toweling down and dressing awkwardly. He limped out of the bathroom, and walked instinctively over to the open window to look at the view - just in time to see Alfred leap out of a lower ground window, in his gigantic wolf form, seemingly unaffected by the sun, and streak off over the grass. 

"What the-"

"Detective?" Bruce spoke up from behind him, and Jim flinched violently. Bruce looked apologetic when Jim turned around, but his expression was solemn. "If you would come with me please, for your own safety. It appears that we have unwanted guests."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this en route to Tokyo, will edit further when I'm home in a week.


	9. Chapter 9

XVIII

Jim had to jog to keep up with Bruce as they moved briskly through the corridors, even though his whole body ached with each step and he could only limp. Damn Alfred! "Where are we going?"

"Panic room." Bruce didn't even look back.

"It's the daytime. Shouldn't I help Alfred?"

This got him an assessing look that faded into a faint smile. "No need," Bruce said, if kindly. "Alfred isn't affected by the time of day."

"Are you?"

"No."

Jim blinked as Bruce led them into what looked like some sort of antiquated drawing room, high mahogany bookcases, paintings and all. A marble mantelpiece above a disused fireplace held a little statuette of an ebony stag, one foot raised as though in flight, and divans plush with cushions circled an intricate Persian carpet. French windows dappled the oak floor with sunlight that Bruce ignored, walking briskly towards an old oak piano set near the corner of the room, by a window. 

"This, uh, isn't much of a panic room," Jim said doubtfully. "Not with these windows."

Bruce had already reached the piano. He played a short melody on it, one-handed, and even as Jim opened his mouth again, to suggest that they go to the servant's wing, there was a faint, grinding sound, and one of the bookshelves slid ajar, revealing a patch of darkness. A way down.

"That's so..." Jim trailed off, and Bruce offered him a wry smile.

"This house was built in a different time, Detective. But its secrets did have their uses."

They descended into the dark, Jim stumbling, Bruce confident, his small hand clutching Jim's tightly. The steep stairs seemed to wind down indeterminably, with Jim feeling more and more uncomfortable by the moment. Who were the intruders? Vassals? Carpathian agents? Someone else? Was Alfred going to be all right? Why hadn't Harvey contacted him?

"Don't worry," Bruce said calmly, and Jim flinched in the dark. "I can hear your heart rate spiking."

"I'm just... What if they... Bruce, whoever came for you, if they mean you harm, they'll have been prepared for Alfred. I should help."

"If 'they' are prepared for Alfred," Bruce said mildly, "Then they'll be more than a match for you. No offense."

True. Jim sighed, then stumbled as they reached the ground floor. Beside him, Bruce flicked on a switch, and Jim blinked spots out of his vision as banked tiers of light above him swept on in a wave. They were in a huge natural cave, by the look of it, standing on an artificial aluminum platform suspended over a small underground river, which hissed and gargled away under their feet. The cave seemed to be at least half as large as the grounds of the house, and another long platform fed off into the dark beyond, possibly to another exit.

Most of the space was taken up by huge computers, their CPUs in tall, thick ranks along one entire side of the main platform. A console with a keyboard setting and large screens sat inert and dark, wired to the computers. Along the other side, which Bruce was walking to, were cases upon cases of weaponry, of all things, ranging from the laughably antique (a crossbow? Really?) to the sleekly modern, where pride of place had been given to a recently oiled Springfield rifle. 

"Take your pick," Bruce invited. "Ammunition's over in that section. Alfred's pretty strict about labels."

"If you didn't know about what your parents used to do, what did you think this room was _for_?" Jesus. There was even a rack of automatics. Some of them military issue. All seemed to be meticulously cared for - Alfred's work, presumably.

"I didn't know about this room until very recently," Bruce corrected. "Alfred took me down here when he finally decided to tell me about who my parents really were." Bruce's hands clenched tightly, for a moment, then loosened. "I'm going to route the security feed down here. Get armed."

"I'll need to know what we're up against."

"Humans," Bruce shrugged. "Carpathians burn in the sun."

Put that way, Jim could only nod. He selected a Uzi, a little self-consciously, then more ammunition for his service piece and a couple of tear gas canisters. When he jogged over to Bruce, the computer was whirring to life. "We should call for back up."

"The weapons are for your protection, Detective, not mine," Bruce said absently. "The Covenant does not cover instances of self-defense. Besides, I'm hardly in a position that can afford to show weakness."

"No," Jim said evenly, "But you're in a _position_ of importance in a _human_ city. I don't know if you've heard, but we've pretty much moved past the kill-everyone-in-sight reaction to trespass for a while. Except maybe in Texas."

Bruce narrowed his eyes for a moment, then he blew out a long sigh. "All right. You win."

"It's not about winning," Jim said patiently. "It's about doing the right thing. Like your mother would have."

"You know," Bruce said, after a longer pause, smiling hesitantly, "Alfred might not be sure of your motives. But I'm glad that we met."

The monitors flickered to life before Jim could formulate an answer, the top tier showing empty corners of the manor and its grounds. On the lower tier of screens, a small posse of heavily armed men in Kevlar vests and padding were creeping through the gardens, just out of the woods, hugging the high hedges of the maze. As him watched, one of the stragglers at the back was abruptly snatched out of sight, into the maze. None of his companions noticed.

"They're armed to fight a big animal," Bruce said, indicating the arm, leg and neck guards with a gesture. "But Alfred's just as deadly in either form."

Jim could believe that. If nothing else, Alfred could move at the speed of a striking viper. "He's playing with them."

"He is," Bruce said quietly. "If you want to call for backup - now's the time."

"Who are they?"

"Can't be certain," Bruce allowed. "But if they're armed and working in a team..."

The Vassals, perhaps. Jim shuddered. What _had_ happened to Harvey? He turned, calling dispatch for backup to Wayne Manor, citing a armed robbery and adding officer-in-danger just in case the GCPD decided to drag their feet, and looked back up again, just in time to see a second team crash a small _van_ through one of the terrace facing French windows, plowing to a messy stop in the drawing room beyond, antique furniture splintering aside as it skewed past into the shadows.

"First team was a decoy," Bruce decided calmly, even as Jim stifled a curse at the sight. "Second team... Ah."

"What?"

"Victor." Bruce said softly, as a bald, tall man stepped out of the back of the van into the shadows. "Don Falcone's hitman. That's an interesting gambit."

" _Interesting_?" Jim yelped. "We have to get you out of here."

"We'll be fine down here."

"What about Alfred?" Jim hesitated, his blood going cold. "The GCPD backup..."

"Cancel it for now. I wouldn't count on Victor to spare them. There'll be a bloodbath." Bruce said grimly. "I'll signal Alfred, get him to circle back after he's taken care of that first team."

Jim called dispatch back, and tried not to feel annoyed at the palpable relief in the operator's voice at the cancel request. When he hung up, Jim asked, "Can he handle Victor?"

"I should think so," Bruce frowned, however, watching as people piled out of the van behind Victor, masked and clad in black, as though to ward against the sun. They fanned out, taking positions near the door and windows, setting up something that Jim couldn't quite make out on the screens. A trap?

"An electric field," Bruce guessed, as two black-clad men hauled out a large generator from the van, and hesitation crept into his tone.

"Alfred's not immune to electric fields, I'm guessing."

"It's physiological," Bruce starts to type in a string of code, then he stopped when Jim straightened up with a wince and started to limp for the exit. "Where are you going?"

"To help?" Jim suggested belligerently.

"Alfred can take care of himself. You'll get in the way."

"I was a soldier," Jim reminded Bruce, trying to swallow his irritation. "I'll be fine. Stay here. I won't hide and let my friends do the fighting." 

Bruce fought a small smile. "All right. I'll let Alfred know. Good luck."

"Stay here. I mean it."

"Unlike you, Detective, I know my limits." Bruce hesitated. "But thank you all the same. For caring. And, ah, a word of warning? The Carpathians infect others that come into contact with their blood. Be careful."

XIX

Jim had excelled at hand to hand during training, but had always been average at very best at small arms, and the Uzi he cradled with its muzzle pointed down felt more like an awkward lover than an old friend. The corridors of the manor felt vast in the daytime, and it had felt like an eternity before Jim had made his way out through a set of French windows into the relative safety of the sun, circling back to the terrace where the generators were being set up.

He managed to take the first human sentry by surprise, knocking him out in a chokehold from behind and then dragging the body under a trimmed hedge. The next he crept around, thankful for the high marble walls around the pool of an ostentatious horse fountain statuette. Patience and luck allowed Jim to steal over to the front of the terrace without being spotted, although it was a tense fifteen minutes mostly spent crouched behind the trimmed hedges. 

Even moving as fast as he could, Jim was only in time to watch helplessly from behind a copse of trimmed trees as Alfred went down, snarling and jerking, to an electric field that he could not see. Had Bruce failed to contact him in time? Or did the contact not work when Alfred was in wolf form? Jim stared blankly as the masked skinsuited men and women swarmed over to Alfred, then he snapped out of his shock when Alfred let out a gasping, mournful howl-

Taking careful aim, Jim fired his Uzi, braced against the tree. The bullets went wide, but at least the intruders scattered away from Alfred, snarling and hissing. Jim fired another clip, catching one man high on his shoulder and slamming him back from the force of the shot, but otherwise - depressingly - not really having any effect, even though he had picked the wood-tipped bullets.

"Christ," Jim hissed, as the intruders regrouped, returning fire on his position even as a couple of them advanced out into the sunlight towards him. Jim looked around wildly. He could back off towards the maze and hope the coast was clear, but abandon Alfred. Or he could hold his position, try to get lucky, and pray that Alfred recovered quickly from the stun.

Gritting his teeth, Jim waited until the latest barrage fell silent before leaning out from cover. The closest masked man was only ten feet away - yelping, Jim fired nearly point blank into his chest, the Carpathian shrieking as it jerked in the air like a marionette. He'd made a mistake using the entire clip in his panic, though - the second was upon him, hissing like a viper and springing out at him. Jim rolled, scrambling to reload and get out of the way, but the hands of the creature... _grew_ , becoming long claws, even as the mask distended to reveal a snakelike hinged jaw full of sharp gnashing teeth, a nightmare made flesh. 

He jerked away from the first swipe, but he second caught him high on the arm, shredding his jacket and shirt as though they were made of paper and slicing three white hot lines of agony into his flesh. Jim was knocked over by the force of the blow, like a doll, rolling over the grass, the Uzi torn from his grip. The Carpathian leaped, bounding the distance to Jim like a gymnast, but Jim managed to get his feet up, catching the vampire with both heels high on its chest and grunting at the impact as he kicked it away, buying enough time to scramble towards his Uzi and come up firing, emptying the second clip with a soundless snarl into the vampire's chest.

Looking up from the grass, Jim noted that Alfred seemed to have shaken off the worst of the shock, locked in a snarling, rolling brawl with one of he vampires, while another lay still, its head torn off its shoulders. As Jim took a step towards the melee, loading his Uzi with a fresh clip, a hand clamped tight on the scruff of his neck and hauled him into the air, even as another hand crushed the muzzle of his gun.

"Hello," said a dry voice behind him, even as Jim tried to twist in his captor's grasp. "You've done well for a human. So. This is nothing personal, Detective." Jim's gun arm was wrenched behind his back, then twisted sharply, breaking it.

His scream of agony broke Alfred away from the brawl, the great wolf springing out into the sun and looking sharply in Jim's direction, jaws bared in a slavering snarl. "Alfred Pennyworth!" The Carpathian called. "I have your pet!"

There was a painful blur of motion, like reality being smudged, then Alfred stood in a combat-ready crouch in the wolf's place, sneering. "Victor. Think I care? Kill him then. He's only human. You'll be next."

"Oh?" Victor grabbed the ring finger of Jim's other hand, twisting until it snapped, and at Jim's cry of pain, Alfred started forward an involuntary step, fists clenching. "He's Abel's blood, isn't he? No need to frown. Don Falcone has ears everywhere." There was a hoarse, chuckling laugh. "Wonder what he tastes like. Have you tried it?"

"What d'you want?" Alfred growled."Your master's broken the Covenant. And for what?"

"It was the Waynes who broke it first," Victor hissed. "Developing a cure for vampirism... Oh, you knew about that, I'm sure. Traitors to the blood! They would damn us all if they could! Even turned, they were still Vassals."

"Quite a damned sight of us don't deserve to live, let alone forever," Alfred growled. "Heard you notch your skin with a wooden blade for each vampire you kill. Wanna try to add my skin to it? Bet you've never had to fight anything harder than a fledgling before, you nattering prat."

Victor hissed, then he started to laugh, even as Jim stopped struggling, gritting his teeth against the pain. "I'm here for bigger game than an old wolf. Give me your word to stand down, and I'll hand you the blood of your master."

Alfred's expression twisted, and after a long, tense moment, he sighed. "I'm sorry, Jim." To Victor, he added, "I've got only one master. And it ain't a man dead since before the age of Man. So do your worst."

Victor tensed, but Jim had been waiting for a distraction - he got his mostly undamaged hand into his underarm holster and drew his service piece, cocking and firing down, between his legs. The bullets stitched over Victor's feet, causing the vampire to yelp in pain and drop him heavily on the grass. Jim swallowed his pain, rolling clear, just in time to see Alfred leap overhead in his wolf form, snarling as he barreled into Victor.

Gasping, Jim dragged himself clear, gritting his teeth, crawling inch by painful inch towards his Uzi and then propping himself against a tree, turning to check on Alfred. Victor was getting the worst of it, already smoking in patches where Alfred had torn flesh and protective clothing off the other vampire. 

Jim tried to aim, then looked sharply around at the sound of a snapping twig. The remaining vampires were cautiously crossing the lawn, covered in their protective gear, apparently intending to help Victor. Cursing, Jim fired a quick burst, but it went wide - Jim was an average enough shot with his gun arm, let alone his left - and one of the vampires hissed as he peeled away from the pack, heading towards Jim, laughing-

A Crown Vic's tyres shrieked as the car burned rubber rounding the side of a manor, slewing crazily over the grass as it slammed into the closest vampire and kept going, smashing into another one. Jim got a brief view of Harvey crouched at the wheel, teeth bared, then the backseat and passenger seat windows scrolled open just enough to admit rifle muzzles. Allen and Montoya fired indiscriminately, at the vampires, at the Alfred-Victor melee, until all the vampires were still, and only Alfred remained, snarling as he whirled around to face a new threat.

"Jim!" Harvey yelled. "Wood bullets! Didn't hurt him! Get him to stand down!"

And it was true, Jim realized dimly. Alfred was bleeding from a dozen places, but his flesh was already starting to knit, even over the horrific torn wound over his jaw. "Alfred!" Jim barked out, years spent in the military feeding into his voice, desperately. "To me!"

Alfred took a step towards the car, still growling then another, but at another, sharp, "Alfred!" from Jim, he abruptly shook himself and padded over, nosing his less injured arm with a concerned whine, then stepping back to shift forms.

"God, you're a mess," Alfred said gruffly. "Best get you to a hospital. I'll try the phone in the house. They set up some sort of jamming signal. Couldn't get a peep out of anyone before."

That explained why Alfred hadn't been warned about the trap. Jim nodded weakly, turning to watch as Harvey cautiously got out of the car. "How'd your day go?"

"Great, I think." Harvey shrugged. "The other two seemed psyched." He stopped warily several paces away. "I, uh. Called for an ambulance before we got here, just in case. Heard you call over the radio for backup then cancel it, so I assumed the worst. So, uh." 

"Just go," Jim said softly to Alfred. Alfred had to be frantic with worry by now. "I'm fine."

"I'll go check on the young master," Alfred said tonelessly, though there was open reluctance in his eyes as he shifted back to wolf form and loped off over the grass. Harvey waited until he couldn't see Alfred anymore, then padded over cautiously, squatting down when he got close.

"Jesus, son. What did I say about not getting involved in a vampire throw down?" 

Behind Harvey, Montoya was heading up cautiously, while Allen padded about, carefully firing more bullets into the heads of the still bodies. "We're going to have to move you to the driveway," she said briskly. "Can't risk anyone getting accidentally infected."

"Right." Jim allowed Harvey to haul him up with his unbroken arm, and they headed over to the driveway, if painfully. "Got what you wanted?"

"Yeah. We're going." There was a faint note of apology in Allen's tone. "Hobbes wants to see us right away, so we can't drive you."

"I'll keep."

"It wasn't the cure," Montoya said quietly. "But it's close. Thanks. I was mistaken about you, I think. I didn't think you'd side with the good fight in the end."

"I helped you then because it was the right thing to do," Jim said evenly, "What with battling those out of control, or maybe helping those infected against their will. But I don't agree with _everything_ that the Vassals do."

"Fair enough." Montoya hesitated. "About Barbara."

"No. You were right about that."

"Sorry," Montoya said, and inclined her head before getting back into the car with Allen, and driving off.

In the sudden silence left behind, Harvey blinked. "What about Barbara?"

Jim sighed. "This is only... fuck this hurts... going to appeal to your most prurient fantasies."

"I think I deserve _something_ after saving humanity. Out with it."


	10. Chapter 10

epilogue

"Hey," Jim smiled a little tentatively when the door opened. "Can I come i-"

Alfred had already tugged him sharply over the threshold, careful of his arm in a sling, kissing him so roughly that Jim nearly cut his lip on Alfred's teeth. They kissed until Jim was dazed, until his lungs burned, until Jim was gasping and laughing breathlessly as they parted.

"Jesus," Alfred didn't let him go, though. "How many drugs are you on?"

"Possibly all of them." Jim kissed Alfred's jaw lightly before resting his cheek on Alfred's shoulder, then he squeaked in surprise when Alfred picked him up, bridal carry style, without touching his broken arm, and started walking briskly towards the drawing room. 

While fussing around Jim on the divan, Bruce appeared, sober as he sat down on the nearby armchair. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

"Didn't want to chance Alfred sneaking into the hospital and getting spotted."

Alfred sniffed, even as Bruce said dryly, "Fair point."

"How're you bearing up?"

"Fine. Don Falcone bid for peace. I'm considering it."

"But-"

"Maroni approached me with a better offer though. I'm still thinking," Bruce said evenly. "But you. I'm aware of what Montoya, Allen and Harvey did. In WellZyn."

Jim exhaled, even as Alfred stepped away, to stand behind Bruce, even though his gaze was restless instead of settling into his usual impassiveness. "Thought you would find out sooner or later."

"I'm not pleased that you stole from me. That you thought it was even necessary." 

"It was up to vote. I lost."

"Ah." Bruce relaxed a fraction. "But still. You came to us. As a distraction?"

"Yeah." 

Bruce shook his head slowly. "Just as Alfred said. You're an honest man."

"Not going to apologize?" Alfred growled.

"Nope. Pretty sure I came out of the whole experience the worst off, just saying."

There was a tense silence, then Bruce smiled faintly, and Alfred let out one of his barking laughs. "Told you," he said to Bruce.

"Indeed. Well. My opinion of you hasn't changed, disappointed as I am that you didn't confide in me. I suppose WellZyn's secret wasn't mine to keep." Bruce rose to his feet. "Thank you again. For helping."

"Don't mention it." Jim settled back against the pillows as Bruce left the room, and Alfred sat down on the edge of the divan, studying him. It felt hard to reconcile this impeccably dressed man in his navy blue three piece suit with the blood-matted wolf he remembered.

"Was hard to leave you there," Alfred said softly. "But I probably would'a scared off the help."

"You very nearly scared off Harvey," Jim kept his tone light. "It's all right."

"No, it ain't," Alfred said evenly. "I hated it. Watching you get hurt. Having to leave you. Fuck."

"I could handle it."

"Yeah, fucking right."

"Killed two, got myself out of that fix?"

"Got hurt pretty bad too."

"Nothing that won't heal," Jim insisted, but Alfred leaned over anyway, nuzzling his neck, then his jaw, a low rumble building in his throat. Even resting his mostly undamaged, bandaged left hand on Alfred's nape hurt. "Hey."

"Good thing you came here when you did," Alfred said quietly. "I was going to check on you."

"I could guess." 

"Jim. I don't..." Alfred hesitated a moment. "This isn't just because of what you are. I've met others of the blood of Abel before. It wasn't like this."

"Good." Jim decided softly. "That's what I was hoping."

"I don't even know how this will work out," Alfred said gruffly. "You've got your life. I've got mine. And I'm going to live a hell of a lot longer."

"I was thinking that we could take things as they come," Jim suggested, "And worry about the bumps in the road if or when they do come."

"This attitude is probably why you got hurt so bad in the first place," Alfred said reproachfully, though he kissed Jim lightly on the jaw and smirked as Jim growled and dragged Alfred over for a proper kiss. For new beginnings, it was a start.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent
> 
> Done. Thanks everyone for reading! Was a bit of a slog near the end since I fell out of the fandom, but we got there :) hope you guys enjoyed the ride anyway! Ps: wrote last few on iPad. Will edit when I get back to a computer after the hols.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [An Old-Fashioned Vampire Story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6615352) by [SilverCircuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverCircuit/pseuds/SilverCircuit)




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